


Negotiations

by Rythana



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, BAMF Kirk, BAMF Spock, F/M, M/M, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6738961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rythana/pseuds/Rythana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a mission goes spectacularly wrong, Kirk finds himself without his first officer and friend, Spock. What ensues as Kirk tries to bring Spock back home will test the limits of their burgeoning relationship and change Kirk’s understanding of the universe itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inception

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to update this multi-chapter work-in-progress weekly, assuming everything in the real world stays sane. I have it about half-finished now, and it totals at 30k words.
> 
> I've loved working on this project, but there was a time when I gave up. It took a lot of encouragement from my husband, my betas, and friendly redditors to get me over the hump. My thanks go out to them, especially Oldlace and MadManMaddox, my lovely betas. I wouldn't know where I'd be without you guys.

In hindsight, Jim should have known the mission was doomed from the start. The day had started off far too nicely.

Jim had bounced out of bed, excited for another day on the _Enterprise._ He loved catching Spock in their shared bathroom in the morning, ambushing him before he shaved. Spock took longer to wake up than Jim, shuffling through his ablutions on autopilot unless he encountered something that captured his attention. This morning, Jim hummed a Madonna song while he brushed his teeth, vogueing with his empty hand as he brushed. That had gotten Spock to raise a neat eyebrow, staring for a moment at Jim instead of his own reflection, before going back to his routine.

They have been star mapping for a week, and even Spock was starting to lose his laserlike focus.

A distraction was in order. Jim hacked the food synthesizer to make a large amount of cheese puffs before Alpha shift started, bringing them onto the bridge.

He tossed the cheese puffs into the air, higher and higher, before catching them in his mouth. Noticing how Spock’s shoulders tensed every time he caught one, he felt mysteriously satisfied. Catching his eye, Jim crunched loudly on a chip and winked.

Uhura’s pretty protégé watched him out of the corner of her eye and laughed. Damn, it was good to be the Captain. Time to up the stakes.

He looked at the solid blue back of his First Officer and a smile formed on his face. He aimed a cheese puff right for the ear -- but no! Intercepted.

Spock looked at the puff in his hand, his eyebrow twitching. “I have so far tolerated your violation of Starfleet regulations by having consumables on the bridge, but launching food-based projectiles at your fellow officers is censurable.”

Jim got up, took the chip from Spock’s hand, and whispered cheekily, “I’m all uncensored, baby,” before popping it into his mouth. Spock’s eyebrows rose even higher on his forehead as he adopted a curious expression. Jim loved it when Spock deigned to play along, and it looked like this time he would.

Jim’s attention jerked back to the command chair as he heard a light _beep._ Rapport with Spock forgotten, Jim picked up his PADD and opened his messages before another alert could sound, tamping down his excitement. He knew the alert could only mean one thing: new orders from Starfleet.

Quickly reviewing the mission data and forwarding it to his staff, Jim addressed the bridge. “Alright. New mission -- a first contact. Finally, some action.”

Even Spock seemed excited as he skimmed the data.  “First contact missions are indeed more complex and intimidating.  We must prepare in order to ensure that our performance is satisfactory.”  

“Our performance is always satisfactory,” Jim purred at Spock. He heard chuckles from some of the members of the bridge crew as he walked back to the command chair.

“I will meet with relevant department heads in Conference Room One in half an hour to discuss the mission and form an away team. Spock, you know the drill.”

“Indeed, I shall message Lieutenant Hendorff, Lieutenant Uhura, and Doctor McCoy.”

“Sulu, chart the course for Hlish.”

Sulu reviewed his console. “We can arrive at Hlish in approximately 1.5 hours, or faster if you are willing to tax the engines.”

“1.5 is fine. Engage.”

 

* * *

 

“So it’s gonna be a first-contact with super macho warriors to make peace with _and_ some unknown invisible force to detect. Will there even be a feast? You know you can’t eat just anything, Captain Fragile. I’m packing hyposprays.”

Jim smirked at Bones, “You’re volunteering for the away team, Bones?”

From his position in the far corner of the conference room, Bones sputtered out, “If you weren’t so disaster-prone I’d stay on the ship!”

Jim sobered. “As Bones so neatly summarized, we have a two-pronged mission: bring the Hlish into the Federation and discern the origins of a new brand of alien tech.”

Spock looked up from the image he had been disconcertingly frowning at. “The class-M planet of Hlish has an Earth-like atmosphere and a generally arid climate. Hlish cities have formed around sources of water on the surface. The Hlish homeworld is their only known settlement and the only planet capable of supporting life in their system, which consists of ten planets.”

He glanced toward Uhura, who noted, “The Hlish have a warrior culture, with an emphasis on the weak and the strong. Physically, they are dark-skinned humanoids and shorter than the average Terran. They use a much higher proportion of words devoted to strength and describing one’s battle prowess than in our own language. They seem less skilled in the areas of trade and commerce. Their leader is a woman known as M’Hlishan, or the Strongest Woman.”

Spock took back over. “Reports on the Hlish’s warp capabilities indicate their ship’s technologies seem to be influenced by different cultural sources. This may imply that the Hlish are trading with other warp-enabled cultures in the area.”

Jim steepled his fingers, intently staring at his crew. “Starfleet has also commanded an investigation into rumors about another interstellar force coming into play from this sector of space.”

Spock nodded slowly, stating, “The Hlish may be aware of this presence, since some of the items on their ship seem to be partially scavenged from technology matching these other found fragments. Their chemical composition and overall design indicate a common source.”

“Cupcake, do you have any recommendations for security?”

“The Lieutenant’s name is Gregory Hendorff, Captain. Continuing to refer to him as a small iced cake is illogical.” Spock’s interruption drew a chuckle from the Captain.

“ _Hendorff_ and I go way back. Pre-fleet, even. Do you mind if I call you Cupcake, Cupcake?”

“No, Captain,” Hendorff replied, launching into his security briefing.

Jim barely heard the Lieutenant's spiel about staying together and not entering buildings or areas shielded against transporters. Jim could not figure out what Spock was doing, as he stared at the alien tech intently.

“Okay everyone, be on alert after we hail the Hlish to arrange a meeting. Dismissed, unless there are any other questions or problems.” Jim stood to watch everyone file out. Bones cast a significant look towards Spock, who hadn’t risen from his chair.

Jim waited until everyone was gone, then walked over to Spock, sliding into the chair next to him. He could not decide what to say, how to break the silence.

Spock beat him to it. “This alien technology renders in me a feeling most curious.”

Jim feigned a shocked expression. “You? A feeling?”

Spock ignored his antics. “My mother once described to me the feeling known as _déjà vu_. I have never experienced it until now. This technology, while alien, is not wholly so -- there are elements that are markedly compatible with Federation technology: some of the couplings are the same, and even the programing seems familiar, despite being in an alien language.”

“Déjà vu isn’t anything to get worked up over. Maybe you simply _have_ seen technology like this before?” Jim said, attempting to strike a comforting note.

“My memory is eidetic -- I have seen nothing like this as yet. However, it is more than that. It is illogical.” Spock motioned to the image open on the PADD, which, to Jim, looked like the equivalent of a twisted piece of space junk. Spock’s eyes captured Jim’s. “I have never seen this before, and yet I feel as if I could draw the item that this scrap belongs to unerringly. It is a strange feeling; one I cannot explain.”

Jim wanted to say something comforting, something kind, but no words would come.

Spock rose, breaking the tension. “I am sorry for troubling you. I will return to the bridge.”

Spock left the conference room. Jim stared out the viewport window, perplexed by Spock, worrying about him, if he actually allowed himself to admit it. Ever since the incident with Khan, Spock had been as close with Jim as Bones.  Spock played chess with him and sparred with him regularly outside of their duties. They both still had some unresolved issues from what had happened with Khan, but Jim was sure Spock would stop hovering over him anytime he got injured soon enough, and Jim knew he wasn’t exactly unaffected when Spock came back worse for wear.

Spock never talked about his feelings, even abstract ones like dejá vu. Clearly, this mission was triggering something within his first officer.

 

* * *

 

Jim’s thought’s were still on Spock’s ‘dejá vu’ later on the bridge. He felt the warp drive smoothly transitioning down before Sulu even mentioned it.

“We have arrived at Hlish.”

Uhura spun her chair towards Jim to announce, “We are being hailed by the planet.”

Jim straightened his tunic slightly. “Open communication with the Hlish.”

A Hlishi male wearing a red turban and veil covering the lower portion of his face came on screen. “Who dares cross into the territory of the fearsome Hlish?”

James T. Kirk replied, “We are the daunting USS _Enterprise_ representing the United Federation of Planets. While we are strong, we come peacefully to introduce you to the Federation and hopefully welcome you into it. We would like to send a small delegation to meet with your leader so that we may fully express these ideas. Please, take my message to your formidable leader.”

“I will do this,” the alien replied; the communication immediately terminated.

“That went well. Uhura: I need more synonyms for fearsome.” Jim raised an eyebrow in her direction as he restlessly got up from his chair.

“Intimidating, powerful, impressive, _not-jim-kirk,_ “ she turned away as she chuckled.

“I didn’t hear that last one, Spock did you hear that?” Jim bumped shoulders with him, lightly. Spock heard it, all right. Jim had too -- but he had also heard that Vulcans didn’t lie.

“There was something troubling about the inflection and syntax. It would not please your ears.” Spock avoided Jim’s eyes, shoulders hunched slightly. Jim decided to let him off the hook.

“Well, if that’s the case, I don’t want to hear it. Thank you, Commander Spock. Always looking out for me.”

 

* * *

 

It was almost time for the end of the shift when the Hlish contacted them again.

The red-veiled Hlishi spoke immediately after appearing on the screen.”M’Hlishan wishes that you send your strongest warriors to us so we may assess the ‘fearsome’ Federation. You may meet us at these coordinates when you are ready. Do not delay, for delaying an encounter is a mark of a weak one.”  The Hlishi then terminated his communication on-screen.

Jim stood, clapping his hands. “Let’s go, Spock, contact Cupcake, I’ve got Bones.”

Jim knew his team could handle this. He strode confidently through the halls, hitting medbay right as shift let out, right as Bones was walking out. “Bones, aren’t you glad you signed up for that mission this morning? We’re leaving now.”

“What? I’m _sleeping_ and _eating_ now. It’s my shift off!”

“Well, hopefully the Hlish won’t mind you sleeping during negotiations, weak one.”

“Dammit, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a diplomat!”

 

* * *

 

The away team beamed down to some unimpressed-looking Hlishi and some impressive looking monuments. The worn statues sparkled faintly in the bright desert sun, giant carvings of ancient weapons and the partial torsos of warriors that wielded them. They created a perimeter between the alcove they had arrived in and the vast, unbroken desert.

They stood in the shadow of a descending axe.

Arranged in a loose rectangular formation, the Hlish delegation stood silently at attention. The Hlish men all wore turbans and partial face veils; the women wore head coverings that also concealed their hair.  Jim’s face stung as a hot wind blew across the meeting site. He didn’t feel welcome, shifting awkwardly.

Finally, a female Hlishi stepped forward, “We welcome you, strongest of the strong with all our strength to Hlish. Before much time has passed M’Hlishan will know your warrior spirit-strength.”

Uhura pulled on Jim’s sleeve, hard. Jim looked askance at her. She said quietly, “I don’t think this is going to go as planned. They set this meet up for the strongest warriors, Jim. No emphasis on diplomacy at all.”

“It could just be the way their speech patterns work?” Jim smiled a little, feeling optimistic.

Uhura huffed, unconvinced.

Jim beamed at the Hlishi who had spoken. “I am James T. Kirk of the USS --”

His introduction was cut off by a sudden interruption from that same female Hlishi, “We will take care of introductions later. Now, please hand over any weapons you carry, and allow my guard to inspect anything you claim is not a weapon.”

Jim handed his phaser over, gesturing for the others to do the same. To be trusted, you must show trust, he thought.

Cupcake gave Jim a hard look, but handed over his phaser anyway.

 

* * *

 

After they had walked for some time, the female Hlishi began to talk.

“In the old days, only the strongest and fiercest warriors would be allowed to negotiate peace between nations. Because they had seen the violence of war, the hardship of loss, the pain of grief, they knew what was at stake if they did not come away successful.”

Jim looked at Spock, who had nudged him. There was an image on the scanner in his hand of the area they are approaching. No buildings were in front of them for miles.

The Hlishi woman was still droning on though her pace had slowed. “Now, the Hlish know peace, though we still value strength. We have come to know new forms of strength. Now, we will know your strength.”

She pulled an ominous-looking device from her voluminous garb. She decisively hit a button on it, and abruptly the scene in front of them changed. Remarkably stark compared to the desert, twenty feet away, a large cargo container with some alien markings sat gleaming in the harsh light. Jim’s palms broke out in sweat. Maybe they should have demanded to keep their phasers.

Scanner in hand, Spock said in a low undertone, “That container bears marked similarities to the alien tech fragments that were listed in the brief.”

To Jim, the Hlishi woman did not look so welcoming anymore. “Guards, assist them in entering the assessment chamber.” She ordered, looking downright sinister. Should have kept the phasers.

“Not so fast.” He used his comm. “Kirk to Enterprise,” but there was no response. A Hlishi male had raised his blunt, stubby, pistol-like weapon at Jim, but the woman gestured at him to lower it. Jim repeated, “Kirk to Enterprise.” Yet again, there was no response. Nothing in the mission briefing indicated that the Hlish had this level of technology.

“M’Hlishan, shall I kill him for his weakness in wishing to flee?” said the trigger-happy Hlishi, whose eyes looked crazed. Jim flinched away from the weapon as the man came closer, pressing the weapon to Jim’s side.

“So you are M’Hlishan? Why conceal it?” Jim figured a topic change was now in order. He stood as still as he could, trying not to jostle the weapon.

“I concealed nothing. Only the worthy may address me as such. Open the hatch, throw them in.”

The Hlish raised their weapons, and other than one escape attempt from Cupcake’s compatriot in red -- he was shot in the shoulder for his apparent weakness -- the Enterprise away team was placed into confinement rather easily.

 

* * *

 

“God _damn_ it!” Jim punched the wall of the windowless compartment, dimly lit by what seemed to be emergency lights. At least it was cooler, a relief after the heat of the desert.

Nyota and Spock had gone right to the middle of the expansive chamber, examining what appeared to be a behemoth of alien tech. It was square, missing one side except for a railing across the top with a control panel, and the center appeared to be hollow. It was dead center in the middle of the room, looming ominously.

Bones was in the right hand corner of the room, with the ensign who had attempted to escape. The ensign bled lightly onto the floor. Cupcake helped put pressure on the ensign’s wound as Bones finished binding it with scraps of his own tunic.

Jim went to check the airlock hatches for what felt like the ninetieth time when he heard something.

Almost like a warp core starting up.

Everyone startled a little, looking around nervously.

The M’Hlishan’s voice came over an intercom: “Now we shall separate the weak from the strong. There is no escape. If you are strong, face the _hlishr k’nv_ bravely and survive the other side to return. The weak, the afraid, die.”

Jim felt something intense in the pit of his stomach, like an elevator which had dropped or risen too suddenly, and then the machine in the middle of the room crackled to life, data readouts all over it glowing.

And forming in the empty center was something like a black hole with a sickly yellow glow emanating from the middle. The size of a fist, it spiralled sinisterly.

Jim stood transfixed near the airlock. “What the hell is that?” he yelled.

Spock and Uhura ran to him, away from the humming machine. Arriving at Jim’s side, Spock motioned to his scanner, and then at Bones, who was madly gesticulating with his tricorder from across the room.

Spock yelled, “The radiation levels in this room are rising as the phenomenon gathers energy. Remain close to the the wall. I believe I have the best chance of stopping it from increasing to more dangerous levels.”

With that, Spock sprinted over to stand in front of the machine, accessing its panels on the bar that ran slightly overhead as he entered in commands that seemingly did nothing.

Bones ran over to Jim, screaming at him, “What is he thinking, he’s getting a much larger dose of radiation standing there.”

“He’s trying to save us.” Jim watched Spock manipulate the controls, trusting in Spock’s technical knowledge and eidetic memory. The strange, swirling anomaly seemed to falter for a moment in its growth. It then abruptly increased in size dramatically. Jim yelled out “Spock!” just as Spock held up the ta’al while pushing buttons with his other hand. The phenomenon was larger than ever, larger than Spock, amoeba-like in its shape, and suddenly there was absolutely NOTHING. No immense, swirling _thing._ Spock was gone, too.

There was a crack and an incredibly loud ‘pop’ as the lights went out on the machine and inside the cramped compartment. Jim yelled for Spock desperately into the darkness, Bones and Uhura clutching his arms tightly. Jim wanted to run into the dark and frantically search for Spock by touch.

Then the lights came up, and there was no trace of Spock in the compartment. No green blood. No scrap of uniform.

Jim walked over to the repugnant machine, looking at the discernibly cracked display panels and buttons. He lashed out at it, aiming a meaningless kick at the side of the contraption closest to him. He barely noticed as Uhura walked up behind him and tightly embraced him. Jim panted, and all he could hear was blood rushing through his ears and one word ran through his mind -- _Spock._

After a while, he became aware that the airlock had been opened and Cupcake and Uhura had gone out, the familiar chimes of the communicator ringing in his ear and then the sounds of distant voices.

Bones was at his side, scanning him. “Mild radiation poisoning. We will all have to be treated immediately.”

“Spock…” Jim croaked out.

“Spock knew what he was doing, you said it yourself. He saved us.” Bones wrapped his arm around him and squeezed lightly.

“You make it seem like he’s dead, Bones,” Jim inched out of his friend’s half-embrace to look him in the face. “We’re going to figure out where that machine sent him and bring him back.”


	2. Revelations

They set up a makeshift base camp on the planet’s surface, their diplomatic mission forsaken after Spock disappeared into the gaping maw of the machine.

It has been a trying two days since Spock disappeared. Various teams of Enterprise personnel took readings on the device, interrogated the Hlish on the device’s function, and attempted search missions routinely. Cupcake established a security perimeter around the cargo container which held the device. Jim was overseeing the efforts, constantly taking status updates and relaying updated orders. Worry consumed him. 

Meanwhile, the Hlish were cooperating, in that they were saying a lot without saying anything actually useful. On the bright side they were not scrambling their army to throw the  _ Enterprise _ crew off-planet. Jim struggled to see the bright side.

Jim looked up from the pile of PADDs which had accumulated around him on the tables in the tent they had set up. “Lieutenant Uhura, let’s review what we know about the  _ hlishr k’nv  _ from M’Hlishan and her attendants.” 

“Let’s see -- they view  _ hlishr k’nv _ as a rite of passage for their strongest warriors; the rite has existed in their society for thousands of years, but was recently modified to include the use of the rift device. They admit the technology of the device is not theirs; they refuse to answer questions about how they obtained it. The Hlish who ‘operates’ the tech from the outside only has access to a simple-looking switch. He has been forthcoming in his description of his job. He turns the device on and then waits for it to turn itself off.” Uhura looked grim. “He says that it has never malfunctioned before, but he does not believe anyone has ever tampered with the controls.”

“And they haven’t exactly been spewing out information about what the damn device does in the first place, have they?” Jim said, sounding as tired as he felt.

“Actually, today, there was something strange about what M’Hlishan said. She referred to the device as a  _ kovtra-mish-vel.” _ Uhura recognised Jim’s startled look. “It was not pronounced properly, but the words are Vulcan for rift machine. Yet Vulcans have not made contact with this race, and Vulcan did not manufacture the brand of alien technology that the rift device represents.”

“And if your translation is correct, a rift -- but to where? We have scanned the planet for anyone with Vulcan lifesigns, but if the machine ported him to another facility similar to the one it was installed in, we could scan forever and never find it.” Jim rubbed his eyes, glaring out at the desert, his voice scratchy as he spoke. “This feels just like  Nibiru all over again.” 

Nyota put a soft hand on his shoulder, “We both know Spock does what he feels is right. Sometimes without caring about his own welfare.”

“Uhura, if Spock hadn’t gone and martyred himself for us -- we could have gotten out of that compartment -- he didn’t have to -- he didn’t have to --” Jim felt his eyes prickle, and he looked resolutely at the ground.

“While we were together, Spock and I shared many things, but one thing that he never really kept a secret, was his love and pride for his ship and crew. Jim, if he’s gone,” and Uhura had to pause, voice cracking, “it’s because he felt that there was no other way.”

He thought about Spock finding him in the warp core, admitting to being his friend. He thought about Spock at his back, covering him. He thought about Spock on the bridge, giving him the eyebrow. His fingernails dug into his palms. 

Jim’s comm came to life. “McCoy to Captain Kirk.”

“Kirk here.” Jim could tell McCoy was aggravated about something just from his tone.

“When’s the last time you slept? Nevermind, I’m looking at logs and you haven’t been back to the ship since your post-incident med eval. Get back here, and get some shut-eye, kid. Don’t make me turn this into a medical order.”

Jim felt torn, wanting to keep going, keep looking, try anything. He knew Bones was serious, though, and he had a point. He had to have faith in his crew, or he’d keel over from exhaustion.

He shot a sympathetic look to Uhura, then stood and strode clear of the tent. “One to beam up, Scotty.”  

 

* * *

 

He could have sworn he had only been asleep for a minute when alarm klaxons woke him. Red alert. In seconds, he was up and fumbling for his uniform and comm. “Kirk to Bridge, what’s the situation?”

“Twenty-seven ships just decloaked in orbit of Hlish. They seem to be ignoring us.” Sulu sounded concerned.

“I’ll be there ASAP.”

He ran through the halls as fast as he could, getting to the lift in record time. The bridge was tense as he entered it. On the viewscreen, a sleek-looking ship comparable in size to the Enterprise drifted past them, with the dull, brown orb of the Hlish planet below.

Sulu slid out of the command chair and back to the helm as Kirk approached.

“Can you tell which is the flagship?”

“Zhere is a largest ship, Keptin,” Chekov then pushed several buttons, and the view screen changed to show a model of the planet with numerous bright dots arrayed around it. “Here are all zhe ships zhat are in orbit of Hlish.”

“And zhis,” His fingers flew across his console and the screen zoomed in on a line-drawing of a sharp-looking, arrow-shaped spacecraft. Its hull came to a point, widening out faster in the horizontal than the vertical. Three sensor arrays decorated the lower hull and there were two impulse engines mounted to either side of the main propulsion on the rear of the ship.

“Zhe ship is roughly three times zhe size of Enterprise.” The ship hovered over the planet like the sword of Damocles.  

Jim sat on the edge of his seat. “Hail them.” 

Chekov’s diagram flipped to a bridge scene that had stations for crew around the perimeter and a central command chair. The overall design was light and somehow airy, with a high ceiling and arched doorways.

The crew seemed to be alien, with eyes all black and noses turned entirely up. They wore heather grey uniforms with bands of color around the neck and collar pips that seemed to designate rank of some sort. In the center, a slim, darker-skinned individual addressed the Enterprise.

“I am Captain Dhar of the _UXSS_ _Sochya._ The Blue Fleet of the Xiran Union bears no ill will towards your ship. We have business with the Hlish.”

“Captain!” The interruption came from the communication officer on duty. “There’s an emergency message from the away team. They report that there is an armed Xiran force now present at their location.”

Jim did not break eye contact with the Xiran captain. “It looks like you have business with us as well, if you are interrupting an active Starfleet investigation into a missing officer.”

“We do not know to what you refer. We are merely recovering illegally trafficked technology.” Dhar had steel in his eyes. “We are warning you: do not interfere with our recovery effort.”

No way Jim was letting them take that device away, not when it was their only chance at getting Spock back. “Well I’m warning _ you _ ! Do not interfere with  _ our  _ recovery effort!”

The Xirans terminated the communication. Jim fumed, surging out of his chair, exclaiming, “Send a security team to meet me at the transporter bay  _ now!” _

 

* * *

 

 

He beamed down to the surface to find the away team huddled together like scared sheep, and he immediately understood why.

There were about thirty Xiran soldiers wearing full armor and face-obscuring helmets on the prowl a short distance from the container or standing at attention in a loose formation just to the side of the container. They had visible weapons. Real big ones, black and sleek with a faint blue glow emanating from the muzzle. 

Jim thought about the advanced tech, about the armada in the sky, and about the now-paltry-seeming phasers that his men have packed. He thought about Spock.

“Who’s in charge here?” he hollered. Predictably, no one responded.

Four Xirans who had been circling the container were now surrounding it; as each approached a side they pulled small devices out of belt compartments. They tightly circled the container as they threw their equipment at it. The devices stuck to the compartment’s surface with audible  _ thunks _ .

“Wait, now hold on, what’s going on, what are you doing?” Jim walked close to the container in his outrage, and this provoked a response. The Xiran soldiers leveled their guns at him.

“Step back from the perimeter we have established!” yelled a tinny voice from within one of the armored suits.

“One of our people was lost to the device inside this container! Please, you can help us find him!” Jim hated begging, but he figured there was a time and a place for everything.

“Step back, now!” The Xiran was definitely not impressed by Jim’s pleas.

There was a shimmer in the air beside the Xiran formation. It resolved into a glossier, shinier looking Xiran in similar armor to the others.

“Admiral, the situation is under control; you should not have disembarked from the ship!” Tinny voice sounded upset, but Jim focused on the fact that he addressed the newcomer as ‘admiral.’

“Admiral,” Jim implored, “the Hlish caused this technology to open a rift which enveloped one of my crew. We need to retain custody of the device to get him back.”

The admiral barked an order at the other soldiers, causing them to go into a parade rest, as he walked over to Jim. “The rift devices are used to mine ores and other substances from planets at other locations in the spacetime continuum. Using them is very dangerous as the planet on the other side may not be hospitable.

“As for your missing crewmember… the only acceptable way to return from a trip through a rift is to return to the origin point and slip back through the still-open rift to your own space-time.”

Jim collapsed to his knees, mind racing in horrible directions. “Are there any… unacceptable ways to return?”

The admiral crouched down to Jim’s level. “Up until this point, no man has ever returned to their point of origin when the rift has closed, Jim.”

Jim startled out of his stupor. “I didn’t tell you my name was Jim.”

The admiral turned partially away as he unclasped and removed his helmet, revealing one pointed ear. “I could never forget you, James Tiberius Kirk.”

Jim’s jaw dropped as Spock turned back to him, brown eyes dark despite the desert sun. Jim embraced him without a thought.

 

* * *

 

Jim’s action caused a flurry of activity. The Xiran contingent went for their guns again. Hendorff and his men grabbed theirs.

Spock restored order, peeling Jim off himself roughly and holding him at arm’s length while barking orders to his men. The Xirans slowly lowered their weapons. Spock’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder, different than the firm grip Jim was used to on the rare occasions Spock touched him. The fleeting touch disappeared as Spock roughly shoved past Jim, moving out of reach.

“Spock...” Jim mumbled, but Spock’s figure had disappeared into the comparative darkness of the container. Several Xirans followed, helmets turning towards Jim as they passed.

Jim wandered dazedly back to where Uhura was among the  _ Enterprise _ away team.

“That admiral, he claimed to be Spock -- I mean, I think that Xiran admiral is Spock. I mean, Uhura, what is going on?” Jim thought about rifts in space/time, and wondered, “It’s only been three days! How could Spock be an admiral in three days?”

“Captain, I don’t know how Spock could be leading an alien force.” Uhura frowned. “But that man did look like Spock.”

“We need more information.” Eyebrows drawn together and lips thin, resolve painted his face as he flipped open his comm. “Kirk to Enterprise. Send Dr. McCoy to the investigation site.”

 

* * *

 

Jim felt like they had been waiting for an eternity. Bones’ questions were tolerable at first, but now...

“So he said what, again?” Bones was scanning an unperturbed Xiran soldier from about ten feet away.

“He said he could never forget me!” Jim wanted to shake him.

Uhura shook her head at them, frowning. “Let’s review our plan again.”

“We need to scan the Admiral to see if he matches our Spock’s data.”

“And how am I to do that, exactly? Unless he’s as docile as these lampposts I won’t be able to get a clear enough scan.” Bones gestured widely at the stock-still Xiran he was scanning.

“It won’t be a problem.” Jim heard a welcome sound: footsteps from within the container.

As Spock came into the light, Jim watched him with rapt fascination. Spock still had his helmet off; gray strands in his hair stood out this close. His movements were a bit stilted, jerky, but that seemed to be common among all the armored Xirans. Spock, alive and whole, stood before him. Jim was momentarily flooded with a powerful sense of relief.

Snapping out of his daze, Jim stepped directly into the path of the Xiran group.

“Spock, we’ve been trying to locate you since the Hlish trapped us three days ago. We are all worried about you and concerned for your well-being.” Jim carefully walked up to Spock, getting as close as he dared with the armed Xirans nearby. 

“We can help you, now that you’re here.” Jim whispered, trying to speak softly enough that the soldiers would not hear him. “Are you ok? Are you a hostage of some sort?” 

Bones’ medical scanner whirred in the background. 

Spock looked past Jim to Bones. “Your scans will not reveal anything abnormal as I am healthy. You should not concern yourself with my well-being.”  He half-turned to the soldiers under his command, receiving a gleaming, fist-sized sphere from one of the Xiran troops.

“Shouldn’t concern myself? That’s bullshit, and you know it. What happened in the rift? How did you hook up with these Xirans?”

“Describing those events to your satisfaction would involve sharing Xiran state secrets. Suffice to say that I would not have been able to return here without the Xiran people.” Spock announced, as plainly as if he were delivering a report. Jim searched Spock’s face for any hint of emotion, but he found nothing. 

Jim closed his eyes as he wished away their audience. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re back. We’ll have time to talk about this back on the ship.” Jim kept his voice down in an attempt to be persuasive. 

Spock visibly tensed, eyes narrowing on the data-displaying sphere in his hands. “I cannot accompany you aboard the Enterprise, Captain.” Spock’s grip went white-knuckled on the sphere in his hand. “I have other duties now, to which I must attend.“ He glared out into the desert with pain in his eyes.

“Other duties? To who, these Xirans? They aren’t your people! They’re not your Captain, Spock, I am!”

“I regret to inform you that I have severed my ties to Starfleet.” Spock delivered this pronouncement without meeting Jim’s searching gaze.

“And when did you file that request? I’m not  _ letting you  _ sever your ties. You hear me? I know where you belong: you’re one of us!”

“I am Admiral  S'chn T'gai Spock of the Xiran Union’s Exploratory Force. I have no obligation to explain myself further.”

“Obligation? Spock, I’m your friend Jim, remember? You’re more to me than just an officer. Surely, you can give me an actual explanation?”

Jim looked at the nearest Xiran officer. “What have you done to him?” Jim grabbed Spock by the shoulder, “You’re not acting right.”

Spock stepped back, shrugging Jim’s hand off. “I am wholly myself, Captain.”

Stung, Jim just stared at Spock, unable to grasp what he said. “No, Spock, you’re not. Not at all,” Jim murmured, pressing a hand to his own chest. His heart felt funny.

Uhura called out from behind Jim, “Spock, what has happened to you?”

Ignoring her entirely, Spock did something to the sphere in his hand which glowed in response. “Landing party to beam up, all clear on container 133-mark-45.” Spock and his Xiran comrades disappeared into shimmering patterns of lights, with the container following in its own great shimmer.

“God-fucking-dammit!” Jim kicked the ground, sending the packed earth flying.

“Do the readings match?” Uhura asked, voice tremulous.

Jim looked at Bones, not sure what he wanted to hear.

“He walks like Spock, talks like Spock, and to this medical scanner,  _ is  _ Spock. Spock had some pretty distinct readings, being a hybrid afterall.” Bones looked up from the scanner, frowning. “There are some scars and healed breaks in bones that Spock didn’t have, though.”

“He answered to Spock. And he knew what I was talking about. That’s gotta mean something.” The desperation in Jim’s voice was apparent.

“Well, it doesn’t mean enough to get his green ass back on Enterprise where it belongs.” Bones frowned. “And what did he mean by saying he was severing his ties to Starfleet? He’s basically the Starfleet handbook personified! There’s no Spock without Starfleet.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of it. Somehow.” Jim was determined. It was Spock, dammit. He was convinced. And he wasn’t going anywhere without Jim getting to the bottom of what had happened.

He would bring him home to the  _ Enterprise _ , one way or another.

 

* * *

 

Bones wanted to show his readings to M’Benga, so they went back to the ship shortly thereafter.

Jim hit the bridge to find many questioning looks and curious stares. Sulu relinquished the command post wordlessly. “Lieutenant Fay, open a ship-wide broadcast channel.“ He addressed the crew. “I have just returned from an encounter with the Xirans. They have taken the rift device into their possession.”

Around the bridge, there were downcast eyes and glances towards the science station.

“There has been another, more pressing development: Commander Spock is currently among the Xiran force.” The bridge crew started clapping and cheering, interrupting Jim. 

He held up his hand to calm them and cleared his throat, searching for the strength to go on.  “However, Commander Spock has identified himself as a citizen of the Xiran Union. Until this confusion has been dealt with, he is not to be treated as an officer of Starfleet. In the meantime, do not reveal to him mission details or other sensitive information. Kirk out.”

Jim’s heart hurt at that declaration, but he knew it was necessary.

“Keptin, Mr. Spock has deserted Starfleet?” Chekov said, voice taking on a worried note.

“It looks that way, Lieutenant.” Jim slouched in his chair, unwilling to rehash the subject.

“Unbeliewable!”

Sulu nodded, agreeing with Chekov. “What if it’s mind control, like on Tantalus?”

“He may well be under the influence of some device or drug, making him act strangely. But right now, he’s not  _ our  _ Spock, so proceed with caution in your interactions with him.” 

Jim sat up in his chair as he heard the turbolift doors open to reveal Carol Marcus.

“Requesting permission to enter the Bridge, Captain.” Her breath was short, and her blonde hair slightly askew.

“Permission granted. Report, Lieutenant.”

“I’ve just come from the science labs where we are busy processing scans of the Xiran ships around us. There is no doubt that they are the originators of the tech that Command sent us out here to find.” She approached the science station, rapidly typing on it, and a display came up on the Enterprise view screen. It showed lines and lines of an alien language in two panes.

“The left side here shows a fragment of the program extracted from one of the samples of the unknown alien culture’s tech that we were provided in the mission briefing. The other side shows a text-based broadcast from one of the ships in orbit now. Communications believes it is a statement of the ship’s designation, class, and status. I will highlight the common phrases between the two.”

Marcus pressed a few keys, and almost the whole wall of text lit up. “As you can see, they share many similar phrases.”

“While that’s great work, Lieutenant, do you have any other evidence?”

“With their shields up, we cannot get any deeper information on their starship technology. Dr. McCoy’s scan of the Xiran body armor has been most helpful. There are similarities between the armor, the rift device, and the samples from Starfleet.” She keyed in a sequence and the screen shifted to show microscopic diagrams of pieces of the technology.

“Here, you can see similar materials and positioning of components on the circuit boards. What’s more interesting, however, is the scale of these components. The traces vary in width, but the narrowest of them all is .127 micrometers. This is smaller than the current smallest design in the Federation by a factor of 100.”

“That’s pretty small compared to our technology. Anything else to report, Lieutenant Marcus?” Jim knew he was being short with her, but he was still rattled from his planetside encounter with Spock.

“No, sir.” Marcus somewhat sheepishly returned the viewscreen to the standard view of the planet they orbited, her movements rushed and her posture hunched.

“Any other information regarding the Xirans? What have I missed?” Jim glanced at Uhura, who looked puzzled. “Lieutenant Uhura, report.”

“I need to double check these translations, Captain. However, my department has tentatively translated some of the passive broadcasts the Xiran ships are making. One broadcast simply seems to be a declaration of peaceful intent. The other broadcasts vary slightly by ship and time, but sections of them remain consistent.” Uhura handed a PADD to the Captain. “The similar parts are the broadcasting ship’s class and name. The names were surprisingly easy to translate.”

“ _UXSS_ _San Francisco...  UXSS_ _Bahsu… UXSS_ _Amanda… UXSS_ _Sochya.”_ Jim stopped reading the names aloud. “So Spock named these ships? They’re all either Vulcan phrases or references to his life.”  

“That’s all the information I have at this point, sir.” Uhura lifts her communications device to her ear, returning to her station. “The remaining away team reports more Xirans on the surface.”

“Open a communications channel with whoever’s leading the endeavor down there right now. Is it Cupcake?”

“Yes, Lieutenant Hendorff is leading the security detail.”

“Put me through.” Jim waited a beat as Uhura connected the incoming communication to the Bridge’s voice communications system. “Cupcake, what’s going on down there?”

“A Xiran force just came through here looking for the Hlish leadership, Captain. No armored suits this time though. They even asked us a few questions, but we told them they’d have to request information through our captain.”

“Have they located M’Hlishan and her attendants?” Jim’s feet itched to run down to the transporter room again, but he knew he might not be needed.

“Yes, they have, but they seem to be engaged in diplomatic discussions, nothing more.”

“Is Spock down there?”

“No sign of the Command… uh, Spock.”

“Maintain visual awareness of the Xiran presence, but do not incite any conflict. Kirk out.” He wearily rubbed his forehead. “I will be in my ready room, working on a mission report.”

Jim departed the bridge and made his way to his ready room. He dutifully sat at his desk and began work on his report, relating all the details of the mission regarding on Hlish thus far. When he reached the part about Spock, he found himself unable to continue.

The thing was, usually he and Spock would fill out their reports together. Spock would come through their shared bathroom for a game of chess and then afterwards they would talk about ship’s business and companionably fill in some reports. Jim would sprawl out on his bed littered with PADDs while Spock sat primly at the desk. They generally did their work separately, but sometimes Spock would ask his opinion, or Jim would double check the facts with Spock. Their conversations would often stray to topics more casual; anything from the purpose of Terran movies to the benefit of a vegetarian diet was fair game.

Now, he found he greatly missed that easy banter and the constant, steady presence of Spock.  _ It’s only been a few days,  _ he reminded himself. Jim sighed and went back to his report.

 

* * *

 

Not long later, his comm chimed. “Kirk here.”

“We are being hailed by the  _ UXSS Sochya. _ ”

“I’ll be on the bridge momentarily.” Kirk looked down at his PADD, which displayed Spock’s personnel file. He finished attaching it to the report, marked the message ‘urgent,’ and sent it to Starfleet Command.

As he entered the bridge, Jim’s grim countenance caused near-silence to fall across his crew. “Put them through,” he ordered.

The  _ Sochya’s _ bridge seemed to bustle with activity; two individuals working a single station together in some cases. Jim noticed that there were even more races of aliens present than he had previously cataloged, as he saw a round-proboscis-ed, blue skinned being pointed something out to a compatriot with a cat-like tail.

Most interesting to Jim was Spock, sitting in the center, wearing a grey uniform and white collar band.

Spock stood with his hands locked behind his back. “Captain Kirk, I am Admiral S'chn T'gai Spock of the Xiran Union. Our business with the Hlish has reached a conclusion. However, we wish to conduct business with the United Federation of Planets.”

“What business does the Xiran Union have with the Federation, Spock?” Jim stood behind the command chair, unconsciously mirroring Spock’s stance.

“Please refer to me as Admiral or Admiral Spock.”

Jim took two strides away from the viewscreen, then turned back around to face Spock while affecting a smile. “Admiral Spock, what’s your business with the Federation?”

“The Xiran Union wishes to negotiate a treaty with the United Federation of Planets to encourage peaceful trade and mutually agreed upon borders. We understand that you will need time to communicate with Starfleet Command before you can answer this request.”

“Well, you are acquainted with the regs, aren’t you, Admiral?” Jim said, bitterness colouring his voice.

“I will be in touch in twelve hours.” Spock looked to the side, and Jim could tell the communication was about to end.

“Wait, uh, Admiral,” the title was heavy on Jim’s tongue. “Could we negotiate something before the official guidelines come in?”

“What are you proposing?”

“The playing field would feel a lot more even if you didn’t have an armada breathing down our necks. Could all your ships but the  _ Sochya _ , I don’t know, leave the sector? As a show of faith?”

“As the Blue Fleet was here primarily to intimidate the Hlish, their task is now complete. I have no objections to ordering them out of the sector. Captain Dhar, relay the order across the fleet that they are to reform, wait for new orders, and disperse to their new headings from 070-mark-3 on your order.”

Captain Dhar spoke into a glowing sphere, much like the one Spock handled on the planet’s surface. His orders sounded distorted and indistinct to Jim, but it seemed that Spock understood them clearly.

“Give the order.” Spock’s voice had a quiet assurance to it.

Captain Dhar nodded and gave one last statement into the orb in his hand; the glow then turned off.

“Keptin, zhe Xiran ships are breaking orbit.” Chekov “Except zhe  _ Sochya.  _ Zhe other ships have established a loose formation and are accelerating out of zhe system. Zhey have gone to warp.”

“Thank you, Admiral Spock. I’ll definitely include how helpful you’ve been in my report to my superiors.”

Spock raised his eyebrow at Jim. “I am gratified.”

“Kirk out.”

Jim spent the rest of the shift filling in details on an update to his recently filed report. If he was a little harsh in his description of Spock, he only realized that later.

 

* * *

 

Jim typed in the sequence for a hamburger resolutely in the mess hall, ignoring the sigh emanating from Bones over his shoulder. He grabbed his meal as it appeared in the slot, stepping to the side.

“Why not a salad? I may need to reeducate you on the finer points of nutrition.” Bones keyed in his meal, which was green sprouts with rice and a small portion of fish.

“Again, I’ll eat your rabbit-food when I have no choice, Bones.” They walked over to their table, where Sulu, Chekov, and Uhura were finishing eating. They were embroiled in a heated discussion.

“He’s an admiral to the Xirans. Why would he want to come back and just be a commander?” Sulu argued, looking pointedly at Uhura.

“Spock didn’t want to be an admiral. He didn’t even want to be captain, really.” Jim tried to disappear. He did not want to weigh in on this subject, despite being interested in the conversation.

“But power changes people. And Spock certainly has it, now. Those Xirans would have asked ‘how high’ if he said ‘jump.’” Sulu pushed his plate away. “I just think he’s staying with the Xirans because he’s attained something he couldn’t get here. Although who knows how he did that in only three days.”

“Spock doesn’t work like that.” Uhura picked up her plate “Trust me.”

Chekov slurped up the last of his soup. “Zhe commander could be under the influence of telepaths!” Sulu grinned and Uhura rolled her eyes slightly. The group stood up, nodding goodbyes to the Captain and CMO. “Zhey could be influencing his brain wawes, making him zheir puppet…” Chekov’s rant became indistinct as they walked farther away.

“The whole crew is abuzz with rumors about Spock, Jim. It’s not just them.” Bones watched Jim warily.

“He was an important figure on the ship. It’s not surprising they are talking about his apparent decision to desert Starfleet for a post in an alien military force.” There’s nothing to betray Jim’s roiling emotions in his voice, but Bones knew him too well.

“Are you giving in to speculation too, Jim? We just don’t know what’s happened to Spock to bring him to this point. Damn, if the hobgoblin heard me defending him those eyebrows of his would launch into orbit.” Bones chuckled lightly, smiling wryly at Jim.

“There’s no way to know what Spock’s story is other than to ask him. I’m hoping that these negotiations will give us that opportunity.”

“You think Command’s going to give the order to negotiate?” Bones sounded incredulous.

Jim finished his bite of burger, then said, “With the data provided by Lieutenant Marcus and the science department on the reduction of chip size which may be possible with Xiran technology, Command will no doubt see the possibilities and ramifications of integrating it into Federation ships and other technology.”

“So it’ll be all about Xiran tech, not the prospect of living happily side-by-side like good little space neighbors,” Bones groused.

“Well, there is that too. I’m sure that’s what will make the press release.” Jim aimed a tight-lipped smile at Bones.

“Aren’t you just a full-on optimist today.” Bones irritably pushed the remains of his meal around on his plate.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so cynical. I just… miss him, you know?” Jim didn’t know why it felt like a confession. His face flushed in embarrassment. 

Jim cast his gaze to the side, refusing to meet Bones’ scrutiny. Bones tilted his head, waiting for Jim to meet his eyes. “I know, kid.”

 

* * *

 

That night, Jim slept the sleep of the truly weary; he could swear he never even changed positions from when he laid down to when he got up. His alarm woke him from a familiar dream, a scene from it seared into his memory -- strong, masculine arms pinning him against the bulkhead, as he ran his fingers through the aggressor’s short, silky hair and leaned up for a kiss. He thought about being pinned to the bulkhead, and knew he was aroused. It had been months since he’d had a dream as potently real as this one felt.

He wasn’t worried about the dream, but he wondered about how he liked being manhandled so much. He was usually pretty dominant in bed. It was a part of the James T. Kirk Captain experience.

He pushed those thoughts aside, as he got ready for Alpha shift.

He took a quick sonic shower, then stood in front of the sink to shave. Opening the cabinet where he stored his toiletries, his gaze fell upon Spock’s pulse razor. Tentatively, Jim picked it up, looking at the wear that was starting to show on the handle. He thought about how Spock used it, shaving in the exact same pattern every day. Neck, left side, right side, center. Logically. 

Jim turned on the razor, the sound familiar, comforting. He turned to the mirror and shaved his stubble clean: Neck, left side, right side, center.

Finished, he looked at the razor again. He wondered if he was hanging on to a lost cause. 

Checking his PADD, he saw a new message from the Admiralty. It was a reply to his report on Spock’s reappearance. It ordered him to make temporary field promotions to replace Spock in the chain of command and to fill his functions onboard the ship. Jim now deeply regretted the frankness he used in his mission update. 

Jim’s hands shook as he realized this was the first step in permanently removing Spock as his XO. Spock’s presence on the  _ Enterprise  _ was as influential as Jim’s, since Spock oversaw the crew and training exercises more directly. Replacing Spock would cast a pall of severity on the days to come.


	3. Discussions

There had been little to do besides standard ship maintenance in the two shifts since his communication with the  _ Sochya. _ Jim’s thoughts whirred in circles, trying to think of a way around the orders he had received: promote from within to replace Spock’s functions. Rationally, he knew it was necessary. The science department was headless; they needed a leader.

Jim put his doubts aside. He had ship’s business to attend to. “Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, please come to attention.”

Sulu rose from his station, taking a half step away from the chair, and snapped to attention. “Sir.”

“Your performance onboard this ship has been exemplary. I am proud to have you as an officer and to call you my friend. I am promoting you to the rank of Commander and the position of First Officer.” Jim gave a wide smile to Hikaru, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Congratulations.”

“It’s my honor, sir. I’ll hold the position until Spock’s return,” Sulu declared with a tentative smile.

“You may return to your station, Commander Sulu. And update your uniform!”

“Yes, Captain.” Sulu returned to his seat at the helm of the ship.

Jim shifted his focus to the science station. “Lieutenant Carol Marcus, please come to attention.”

“Sir.”

“I know you are already doing the job of head of the science department now that the position is… vacant,” Jim briefly broke eye contact before continuing, “and I have seen and heard nothing but good things. You are now formally promoted to head of the science department.”

“Thank you, Captain. Mr. Spock left the department in great shape. I promise to hand it back to him the way he left it.” She looked pleased. Jim felt sick, but he kept a smile on his face.

“Resume your duties, Lieutenant.” Jim couldn’t help but feel that he had given up on Spock, somehow. Regardless, he needed to carry on; the ship needed to run smoothly.

 

* * *

 

Jim heard the familiar  _ beep  _ of his PADD in the early hours of Alpha shift.

He reviewed the details of the new mission he had just received. Admiral Chandra had penned the reply, though an emergency session of the Federation Council had been convened to vote on the issue of negotiating with the Xirans.

The vote had been close to unanimous in favor of negotiating a peace treaty. The mission brief included a goal for territory borders, taxes on imported and exported goods, an objective to gather more information on their technology, and finally, the Spock issue: Starfleet wanted Spock to return to headquarters for a full debriefing as part of the treaty. Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. How on earth was he going to convince Spock to go along with that? He had no means of persuading Spock to leave his comfortable position onboard the  _ Sochya, _ nothing to offer other than his old position _. _

“I’ve received new orders. Senior staff should prepare to meet in Conference Room One in ten minutes.”

Jim turned his attention to the viewscreen. The  _ Sochya  _ was silhouetted by the system’s sun, light blazing around for a moment as it as it orbited Hlish. Jim impassively watched the ship crawl slowly out of the golden sphere, trying not to think about what Spock was doing at that moment.

 

* * *

 

Jim stood for the meeting, too restless to sit. His senior staff were arrayed around the table, with Bones at the far end. “The Federation government voted in favor of negotiating a trade agreement with the Xirans. You have the guidelines for trade and boundary placement goals in the mission briefs I have forwarded you,” he began. “Starfleet also wants as much additional information on their technology as possible. More information on the Xiran tech may lead to determining what, exactly, has befallen Mr. Spock.”

“Finally, what will surely be the most difficult task: they want us to bring Mr. Spock back to Earth so that he may formally answer questions about his recent actions. Please leave this objective to me.”

“I canna’ believe Mr. Spock would come back to Earth willingly. Who would want to face a bloody tribunal if they could avoid it?” Scotty looked incredulous.

“There’s nothing for it, Scotty, I’ll have to convince him somehow.” Jim felt frustrated already. What could he offer Spock that the Xirans didn’t have?

“We would have a better chance of coming into contact with scannable Xiran technology onboard the  _ Sochya. _ ” Marcus sat up straight, voice betraying her excitement.

“At least the Xirans haven’t tried to kill us yet.” Bones was parked in his usual corner of the conference room. “It’s a change of pace.”

“Thanks, Bones. Just for that, you’re on the negotiations team. So are Lieutenants Uhura, Marcus, and myself.” Jim crossed his arms and looks out the viewport.

“Well, aren’t I lucky.” Bones smirked.

“If that is all, it’s time to hail the Xirans and give them the message that we’re good to start negotiating.” Jim nodded to the room. “Dismissed.”

 

* * *

 

Once he was back on the bridge, Jim had Uhura open a channel to the  _ Sochya.  _ In less than the span of a breath, their hail was answered. The bridge looked a bit calmer than the last time they had hailed it. Spock dominated the scene, hands loose at his sides, relaxed.

“Greetings, Captain. I trust you have heard from Starfleet?” Spock’s voice was calm and steady, a familiar constant. Jim yearned to have him back by his side.

“We have indeed heard from Command. We are to go through with negotiations, Admiral. Now, your place or mine?” Jim tried not to smile, but he could tell he was not successful when he saw Spock’s eyebrow quirk slightly.

“The  _ Enterprise _ will be suitable to our purposes, Captain. If I am still welcome aboard.” Spock’s posture stiffened slightly as he said this.

Thinking fast, Jim answered, “Why don’t we alternate ships as meeting locales. That way we both get to play host. The  _ Enterprise  _ can entertain first.”

“I find your recommendation to be satisfactory. Basic information on the cultures of the Xiran Union and its  current boundaries will be transmitted over to your ship. Are you prepared to begin negotiations today, or do you require additional time?”

“No, we’re good. We’ll lower our shields to allow your team to beam over in two hours. Don’t bring any weapons, and limit your team size to six or less. We will restrict your movements on the ship to approved areas only, and you will have a security detail with you at all times. Do you accept these terms?”

“Affirmative. I will ask that you and your team follow these same protocols while onboard the  _ Sochya. _ ”

“That’s fair.” Internally, he groaned -- how was he supposed to investigate Xiran tech while being shadowed by Xiran security? “See you in two hours, Spock. Kirk out.”

“Well, looks like we’re going to be having guests. Uhura, get me Cupcake.” She nodded, connecting the bridge to Hendorff’s comm.

“Hendorff here, sir.”

“There’s going to be a team of up to six Xirans including Spock coming over for the negotiations in two hours. Prepare pairs of security personnel to shadow the Xirans while we’re on break, and set up security checks at key points around Conference Room One. They can access the rec rooms, the mess hall, and the observation deck. No more than that. Other locations on the ship need to be cleared with me or senior officers before they can access them.”

“Finally, revoke Mr. Spock’s security clearance. Reset it to that of a civilian. Any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Get to it. Kirk out.” Jim felt his stomach quiver with anticipation.

 

* * *

 

Jim skimmed Spock’s briefing on the Xiran Union. The home world and capital of the Xiran Union was Xira, a temperate class-M planet with a population rivaling that of Earth. The Union consisted of forty-two inhabited planets, many of which were merely colonies of their member races, of which there were nineteen. Jim skipped the subsections on the member races for now.

Each member world had its own government, which sent elected representatives of their interests to the bicameral Xiran Parliament. Their parliamentary system of government included the standard three branches: the Xiran Parliament, the Xiran Cabinet, and the High Court of Xira. The Xiran Cabinet was appointed by the Parliament and headed by a Prime Minister.   

The supposedly peace-loving people had two fleets of warships at their disposal in the Xiran Exploratory Force. The briefing provided its operational charter, which Jim noted, closely mirrored Starfleet’s charter. It stated that the fleets’ mission was to explore space, seek out new civilizations, and to expand the knowledge of the Xiran Union.

Jim scrolled back to the subsections on member races, reading more closely on the details regarding the Xirans. They were known for their pursuit of knowledge and love of creative works. Scientists, artists, writers, and others who directly contributed to the expansion of Xiran culture were idolized. 

Horticulture was important both in their architecture and in their way of life. They saw the state of a family’s garden as an indicator of the health of the family unit, and the health of public gardens as a metric of the state of the government. They routinely invented new plant hybrids and had horticultural fads. Trampling plants or intentionally doing damage to one of these gardens was seen as a grave insult.

Spock had noted that a Xiran’s wide, dark eyes were able to parse a wider gamut of light than a human’s. The range of height and weight was comparable to humans, with a similar range of skin tones. They possessed six fingers and six toes. Their blood was copper-based. 

There was no section dealing with their technology or specifics about their leadership, besides a list of names of government officials. Jim lingered on Spock’s name, listed as Fleet Admiral.

 

* * *

 

After reviewing the report that Spock had sent over regarding the Xiran Union, Jim could no longer sit still.  He fluttered through the ship, helping wherever he could. He even personally oversaw the cleaning of Conference Room One -- he’s pretty sure that was the first time the Ops cleaning staff received direct orders from their Captain.

Bones appeared in the doorway, irritation plain on his face. “Jim, are you terrorizing these poor crewmen and women?”

Jim looked up from where he was directing the arrangement of flowers from botany. “They love it, Bones.” 

Jim did not miss the  _ save me _ glance that was cast at Bones from the ensign arranging the flowers. He rubbed his face with his hands, wondering if he was losing it.  

“Let’s take a walk, Jim.” Bones made an  _ after you  _ sweep with his arms.

Jim opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. Jim knew Bones had his best interests at heart. “Sure, Bones. Keep up the good work everyone!”

A mumbled chorus of “Yes, Captain,” drifted out to the hallway as Jim left the room. They strode through the halls, Jim a half-step behind Bones.

Jim tried to remain patient, but the silence got to him. “Bones, what’s up? We’ve only got twenty minutes until the Xiran team arrives.” Jim wrung his hands with nervous energy.

Bones led him into the empty observation deck. Once inside closed doors, Bones walked across to the windows, then turned back to Jim. “I’ve just heard about the Captain’s impressive micromanaging skills, but I didn’t think you would actually stoop to bothering the cleaning crew. Jim, you surely have more important tasks than picking flowers to impress Spock!”

Jim felt sheepish, ducking his head slightly and avoiding eye contact. “I... couldn’t concentrate on my work, Bones.” Outside the observation deck’s ample windows, the  _ Sochya _ drifted in space.

“Jim, you need to get your head straight where Spock is concerned. I know you two were close, but that’s over now. Don’t hurt yourself by assuming Spock is as he was when he was your First Officer. ” Bones watched impassively as Jim sat slowly on one of the couches in front of the windows, sighing. “Hell, how do we even know what went on in that stone-faced hobgoblin’s head? He could have been pining for an out the whole time.

“Treat him like a mystery to be solved, or simply like a mission objective. I’d hate to have to declare you emotionally compromised, but you’re heading that way.”

Jim stared out into the black, at the  _ Sochya _ , at anything other than Bones. His head fell forward, eyes closing. 

“I’m not compromised, Bones. I’m just… anxious to start the negotiations.”

“Of course you are, Jim. But you don’t  _ get  _ anxious.”

“Whenever my ship or crew’s in danger, I’m anxious.”

“No, you worry. And you usually respond more productively than terrorizing the junior crew. And who’s in danger now, anyway, for you to be anxious over?”

Jim felt his face heat. “Spock is still my crew, Bones. He may very well be in danger.”

“He sure has a funny way of showing it, kid.”

Jim was tired of the scrutiny. “Let’s get to the transporter room, Bones. It’s nearly time.” Jim stalked off, not waiting for Bones or his reply.

 

* * *

 

The tell-tale shimmer of Xiran teleporters was right on time, Jim noted. How like Spock; ever punctual. He came to attention, as did his fellow officers.

Spock came into existence on the transporter pad alongside four uniformed Xirans.

“Welcome aboard the  _ Enterprise _ .” Jim’s anxiety was replaced by a sense of rightness as he took in Spock’s familiar face.

There was a pause as Spock failed to return his greeting. Spock's eyes flitted minutely to take the whole room in before he finally nodded. “Allow me to introduce the Xiran delegation to these negotiations." He acknowledged the team of Xirans standing at attention a step behind him.

“Lieutenant Bifar, step forward.” Bifar, a dark-skinned and heavy-set Xiran, locked his hands behind his back and stepped forward, bowing slightly. “He is an experienced communications officer, well-versed in xenolinguistics. He has served the Exploratory Force for four years.”

“Lieutenant Shalisa, step forward.” Shalisa bounced slightly as she took her step to the front, making her obviously-non-Xiran tail whip around, nearly hitting Spock. She waved cheerily at the _Enterprise_ crew.  “She is an expert on diplomatic and public relations, serving in the Exploratory Force for seven years.”

“Commander Dez, step forward. He is the  _ Sochya’s  _ lead science officer, serving in the Exploratory Force for fifteen years.“ Dez could not have been stiffer in his movements, simply staring at the bulkhead while Spock described his service.

“Doctor Veersha, step forward. She is one of the  _ Sochya’s  _  premier physicians, serving in the Exploratory Force for nine years.”

A light smile lit up the Xiran face of Doctor Veersha. “But I am proudest of the last five years that I have spent serving on the  _ Sochya. _ ” Veersha stepped back as Spock stepped down off the platform.

“Captain, I have already briefed my team on key members of your crew that you were likely to select for this endeavor.” Spock looked past Jim. “Greetings, Lieutenant Marcus, Lieutenant Uhura, and Doctor McCoy.”

Jim felt betrayed, imagining Spock giving briefings on the crew of the  _ Enterprise _ . The Xiran team undoubtedly had an upper hand if they had access to all of Spock’s insider knowledge of the  _ Enterprise _ and the Federation. “How… logical.” He had to restrain himself from saying more, which would undoubtedly lead to trouble. He could be a diplomat. “Let’s get down to business, then. If you would follow me to the meeting room.”

 

* * *

 

Jim could not believe it. The negotiations were a polite clusterfuck. The borders that the Xirans had drawn up overlapped the goal for Federation space massively and proposed trade investment rates were expansively different on both sides of the table. It had been like pulling teeth to even get the Xirans to express their goals.

Spock had been largely silent during this process, preferring instead to observe the discussion. Jim found Spock’s gaze on him distracting whenever he took over the dialogue, and more than once had to intentionally look away from Spock to keep his chain of thought together.   

The conversation reached dilithium ore and the polite, calm discussion dissolved into an argument. Shalisa spoke over Uhura and Dex made remarks that undercut both of them. Spock’s authoritative voice cut through the rabble of voices. “Perhaps a brief suspension of our negotiations is in order.”

Jim agreed. “Let’s take a break, get something to eat.” He stood, and the other attendees did the same. Walking to the door, Jim held it open. “Everyone to the mess hall!”

The group filed out. Jim noticed Bones had his hand on the small of Doctor Veersha’s back. Thinking back, Jim recalled that they had been having their own conversation at the end of conference table. Jim smirked as their figures disappeared down the hall with a security team.

Spock was the last to leave the room, and now stood in front of Jim. “Captain, if I may ask a favor.”

“Sure thing, Spock, errr, Admiral Spock.”

“I require a space that is both quiet and reasonably private to meditate in for a portion of this break in our discussion.”  Spock looked like he would continue, but Jim cut him off.

“Of course, Admiral. How do your old quarters sound?” Jim kicked himself, he was being way too permissive.

“Captain, I require privacy and nothing more. My former quarters are quite unnecessary.” Spock looked uncomfortable, shifting slightly.

“Your quarters fit the bill, and they’re just as you left them: perfect for meditation. It’s no trouble, Spock.”

“Your recommendation is sound.” Despite his agreement, Spock still seemed reluctant.

“Come on, Spock. Let’s go meditate.” Jim turned and started walking out the door.

“I must insist that you refer to me as Admiral Spock,” Spock corrected, but there was no irritation to it.

 

* * *

 

Upon arriving at Spock’s quarters, Jim keyed in the entry code. “Remain outside,” he told the security officers that had accompanied him. “We’ll be no longer than thirty minutes, isn’t that right, Admiral Spock?”

“Affirmative.”

The door swished closed behind them as Jim walked further into the room. He had been here before, though he and Spock usually met up in Jim’s. The air was warm and dry, and Jim had the vague thought that he should have the environmental controls reset.

Jim turned to look at Spock, and was shocked at the change in his demeanor. Spock had approached a shelf and was gently running his fingers over the wooden base of his lyre, pain and longing clear on his face.

Jim abruptly had a change of heart. “We don’t have to be here, Spock, there are empty VIP quarters on Deck 2…”

“We are already here, Captain. Relocating would be illogical.” Spock looked up from his perusal of the shelf, meeting Jim’s concerned gaze.

“You seem uncomfortable, is all, Spock.”

“I admit to being somewhat discomfited, but it is not only these quarters that are the cause. Captain, I am surrounded by memories of a life that I believed until quite recently to be unattainable. I must re-center myself.”

“Unattainable? Spock, we would take you back with open arms!” Jim realized he was oversimplifying matters. Jim took a step towards Spock. “Well, you would no doubt have to explain a few things, but the  _ Enterprise _ would fight to get you back!”

Spock’s eyes looked even sadder. “I have a responsibility to the Xiran Union, Captain. I cannot leave it, even to be First Officer of the  _ Enterprise _ .”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to get you back, Spock. You must know that.”

Spock took a half-step forward, placing one of his hands on Jim’s shoulder. Jim wondered, belatedly, if he was about to be Vulcan-throttled. Unexpectedly, images from his dream about being pinned to the bulkhead intruded on his train of thought. Jim shrugged off the inappropriately-timed fantasy.

Jim reached up and placed his hand on top of Spock’s. He only had a minute to register  _ warm  _ before the hand slid out from under his and Spock turned away.

“I must meditate.” Spock stalked away from Jim, sinking down to the floor in the corner of the room on one of the meditation mats.

“Of course, I’ll be over here at the desk.” Jim sat down heavily, feeling foolish after his proclamations to Spock. He slumped over, his cheeks resting in the palms of his hands. He turned on Spock’s data terminal, intending to work on crew evaluations, but instead his gaze lingered on Spock’s still form, mind whirling with questions.

 

* * *

 

Spock finished his meditation in a timely fashion, his stoic manner restored. He and Jim agreed to get something quick to eat from the mess hall.

Noting the curious looks and near-constant whispering from crew at Spock as they made their way to the food synthesiser in the mess hall, Jim felt some pity. Spock’s posture was ramrod straight through it all though, even when one sputtering ensign bumped into him, saying, “Commander Spock!”

“Admiral Spock, now.” Spock gently corrected, as the ensign blushed and quickly went on his way. Spock returned to the line for the synthesiser, unruffled.

After picking up their meals, Jim looked across the room to determine where to sit. However, Spock was intercepted.

“Admiral, I would like your opinion on a revision to our proposed numbers for tariffs on imported fuels, technologies, and vehicles.” Commander Dex shifted his weight uneasily under Jim’s gaze.

“I would like to hear your recommendation, Commander. If you will excuse us, Captain.”

Commander Dex motioned to relatively private table, and the two went off together.

Jim hefted his tray and was about to resign himself to sitting at a random table when the doors to the mess hall opened and Lieutenant Uhura came in, followed by Shalisa, Bifar, and Lieutenant Marcus. They were all laughing.

Jim walked over, smiling, “I demand to be let in on the joke.”

Shalisa grinned at him, saying “We have just come from your recreation room, where we played a game of ping-ping.”

“Ping-PONG,” corrects Bifar, with a deep chuckle, dark eyes twinkling.

“And it turns out I am terrible at it. They are mocking me, Captain.” Marcus affects a pout, sparkle still in her eyes, earning more laughs from the others.

“Come, sit with me while I eat, tell me about it.” The group found a table and sat comfortably arrayed around it. Marcus regaled the table with a tale of her mishaps. Jim listened and laughed at all the right places, but found his gaze shifting to Spock’s dark head a few tables over.

“… After the fifth time hitting Security Officer Ryan in the head with my misplaced serve I just had to give up! Advanced physics degree or no, ping-pong is not my sport!” Marcus finished her rant, smiling as the others chuckled.

“I am glad for this opportunity to see Admiral Spock’s original culture.” Shalisa fairly beamed at Jim, and Jim grinned back.

“I doubt you will catch Spock playing ping-pong any time soon.”

“The Admiral has always been known for his reticence in sharing information about his origins. When he revealed to the Xiran Parliament that there was a chance that there would be an alignment with his original timeline after so long, I was  _ incredibly _ excited for him!” Jim tried to conceal how interested he was in this unsolicited earful.

Bifar looked mildly appalled. “You are sharing private information, Lieutenant.”

“It’s all public record. Anyway, this mission to Hlish took a lot of planning and research to time properly.” Shalisa didn’t look concerned, but Bifar’s tone was cold and serious.

“You are overstepping boundaries. I insist that you cease this conversation’s topic at once.” Bifar’s dark eyes had narrowed, and his upturned nostrils were mere slits. Jim wanted more information, but he also didn’t want his source getting in trouble.

“Hey, has anyone seen Bones?” Jim put on his best worried face.

“He took Dr. Veersha down to see med bay.” Uhura smirked a little. “He wanted to show her some scanners.”

“I bet he did.” Jim chuckled as he took a bite out of his food, noting the curiosity in the eyes of the Xiran officers.

“Why do you find their comparison of equipment humorous?” Bifar seemed to have relaxed from his previous chilly demeanor.

“Well, Lieutenant Bifar, I know Bones, er, Dr. McCoy pretty well, and he only shows the med bay to women he likes. Romantically.”

“This is exceptional news!” Bifar was excited, his black eyes blinking rapidly. “Dr. Veersha has not taken a mate in many cycles.”

“Dr. McCoy is a good man, is he not?” Shalisa questioned Jim.

“McCoy is my best friend.” Unwittingly, his gaze slipped back to Spock. “Let’s keep this whole McCoy-Veersha thing a secret for now, though, everyone. We wouldn’t want to harsh their vibe.”

“Harsh their vibe?” Bifar’s eyes widen.

“I mean, disrupt their courtship.” Jim was finished with his food, but he wasn’t ready to leave the table. “Let’s talk more about ping-pong. Do you have any games like it within the Xiran Union?”

The group amicably talked about the variety of paddle ball games found in various civilizations until it was time to resume the negotiations. They then went back to the conference room, and things progressed far better than the first session, though there were still many issues to conquer.

 

* * *

 

After the negotiations ended for the day and the Xiran delegation was safely returned to the  _ Sochya, _ Jim called a short briefing to review the day’s events and plan for their next meeting.

“Can we meet anywhere else, please? I am sick of staring at these four walls,” Bones groused, gesturing to Conference Room One’s rather minimalist decor.

“It’s the biggest conference room, and the one reserved for senior staff. You know this, Bones.” Jim sighed, then started the meeting. “Alright, let’s go over the current Xiran trade proposal and compare their numbers to ours. Let’s also figure out the key areas where we may need to ask Starfleet for wiggle room on their goal numbers to make the treaty work.”

They worked intently together for at least an hour before Jim was stretching back, watching Marcus and Uhura compare two star charts on their PADDs. He looked at Bones, whose gaze was unfocused as his mouth curled into a smile.

“Thinking about someone we know?” Bones startled, shooting him a dirty glare. Jim continued, “Someone we just met today, maybe?”

“I don’t know what you are on about, Jim,” Bones grumbled, clearly preferring to avoid this topic.

“How did Dr. Veersha like the med bay?” Jim asked more directly.

“She was curious about our biofunction monitors and some of the experiments we have going on in the lab, but I got the impression that it was only polite interest.” Disappointment was plain in the set of Bones’ features, but he suddenly perked up. “She did say I’d get to see  _ Sochya’s  _ medical facilities, which, based on her descriptions, are  _ expansive...” _

“Expansive, eh?” Jim had trouble keeping a straight face.

“Just what are you implying, Jim?”

Jim turned in his chair, facing Bones, and recited,  _ sotto voce, “ _ Bones and Veersha sitting in a tree, K-I…”

“That’s enough!” Bones whispered quickly and quietly, interrupting him. “I’d think you would be pleased we were hitting it off. I’ll be able to get up close and personal with their medical technology, which is part of the mission. Remember the mission? Or have you forgotten it in favor of spending quality time with Spock?” Jim looked at him dumbly until Bones continued, “You took him to his quarters and you were alone with him for over a half hour, Jim.”

“Oh, that… Spock needed to meditate.”

“And he needed to do it in his old quarters with you as his chaperone?”

Thinking fast, Jim came up with an excuse. “I’m trying to butter him up for when I have to convince him to come back to Earth, Bones. You know that’s not going to be easy.”

“You’d better think of something more logical than  _ look how nice I’ve been _ .”

Feeling stung, Jim turned away from Bones and tuned back into the discussion on borders and boundaries.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Jim was nervous about boarding the  _ Sochya,  _ seeing Spock’s ship. What could be so compelling that Spock would choose it over the  _ Enterprise? _ Jim doubted Spock could find equals to the men and women of Jim’s crew. Perhaps he found fault with its Captain, who had given the order to surrender their weapons on Hlish. Jim _ hurt  _ at the idea that Spock might blame him for losing him, for not coming to the rescue.

Perhaps the answer would be found in the Xiran technology. More information on the rift devices may reveal what, exactly, has happened to Spock - whether it be mind control as Chekov hypothesised or something even more complex.

He was already in the transporter room when the broadcast coordinates for their beam-over were received and the rest of his team arrived. He decided not to show his apprehensiveness.

“Morning, ladies and Bones,” Jim grinned broadly.

“Jesus, what are you so excited about?” Bones clearly did not match Jim’s level of enthusiasm.

“We’re going to go see Spock’s ship!”

“May I remind you these are serious negotiations, not some grade-school field trip.”

“Bones, you’re no fun.” Jim schooled his face into a serious expression. “Form up, people, let’s get ready to beam over.” Uhura, Marcus and Bones took their positions on the platform.

“Scotty, is the  _ Sochya  _ ready for us?”

“Their shields are down, Captain, and they expressed permission for your arrival with the coordinates.”

“Alright. Energize.” Jim watched as the familiar setting of the transporter room transitioned into something bright and blue. His feet sank into a rich carpet of mossy turf. He had to shield his eyes for a moment, as they adjusted.

“Welcome aboard the  _ UXSS Sochya. _ ” Spock’s voice rang out in the open air. Jim took in his surroundings, gaping at huge, blue bioluminescent trees that seemed to tower over them. Their branches caressed the air, wavering lightly as if there was some sort of unfelt breeze. He lowered his gaze to ground-level, where a myriad of plants lined the base of the trees, foliage a variety of colors. The air smelled sweet and fresh, unlike the normally stale starship air. “You are currently in our ship’s arboretum.”

“Gotta admit, Admiral, I’m impressed.” Jim slowly turned around, taking in the whole cathedral-like vaulted dome. He could almost see why Spock was attracted to this posting.

When he turned back to face Spock and the Xiran team, he noted that Spock was wearing a pair of worn gray gloves that almost perfectly matched his heather grey uniform.

Lieutenant Shalisa bounced forward. “We invite you to participate in an ancient Xiran ceremony to welcome guests. Xiran culture places an emphasis on botany and gardening.”

She beckoned them over to a section of the arboretum floor that looked like it was ready for planting, earth churned loose and dark. There were four mats placed in a line on the ground by the dark earth.

“It is a simple ceremony, wherein the host and guest plant and water the seed symbolic of welcome on Xira, the  _ bahfrit  _ flower bulb. We have four bulbs ready for planting so that your entire team can experience the ceremony.” Shalisa pulled a fist-sized magenta bulb from the pack she carried.

“Commander Dex will welcome Lieutenant Marcus.”

“Lieutenant Bifar will welcome Lieutenant Uhura.”

“Dr. Veersha will welcome Dr. McCoy.”

“Admiral Spock will welcome Captain Kirk.”

After these pronouncements, Shalisa gave the odd-looking bulbs to each of the Xiran team members, who then paired up with their  _ Enterprise  _ counterparts.

“Now, listen to my instructions as we complete this ritual.”

“Approach the tilled earth and kneel on the mats that have been laid out for you.” Jim walked into the soft earth, Spock at his left side, and kneeled in tandem with his former First Officer. The smell of fresh fertilizer was overwhelming. He noticed a jug of water with two handles to his right.

“Dig a hole approximately 24 centimeters deep together.” Spock started scooping earth away, making a small depression. Jim hastily joined in, fingers lightly bumping against Spock’s as they both dug. He felt rather than saw Spock tense next to him as his hand brushed across the back of a worn glove. Seemingly out of nowhere, the sting of rejection hit him. Spock couldn’t even stand his touch anymore.

Jim avoided Spock’s hands as they finished digging. Strangely, in the narrow depths of the hole, it seemed like Spock’s hands were searching his out as their fingers awkwardly tangled.

“Next, place the  _ bahfrit  _ bulb into the soil, roots down. You both must have one hand on it.”

Spock picked up the bulb in his left hand, and Jim extended his right hand to join Spock’s. They smoothly lowered their bulb into the hole. Jim stole a glance at Spock’s face and was surprised to see him flushed, focused on where their fingertips overlapped on the bulb. Spock met Jim’s eyes, and they both dropped the bulb the last inch into the hole.

“Cover the bulb with soil.”

They pushed the dirt back into the hole, quickly filling it. As they smoothed the dirt over the now-filled hole, Spock brushed his fingers against Jim’s. Jim beamed at Spock, but Spock’s gaze was on their overlapping hands.

“Now, lift the jug together as your host welcomes you using an old Xiran recitation.”

Spock helped Jim lift the jug, which felt cool and smooth in his dirty hands.

Spock looked into Jim’s eyes. “You are welcome to all that is mine, for I have judged you and found you worthy. Come into my house and make yourself merry. May our friendship bloom as brightly and as long as these flowers, green even in winter, returning to blossom year after year.”

Jim felt his mouth go dry at Spock’s words. He was consumed with images of their friendship -- chess, heart-stopping missions, the bridge, mission reports, his face in med bay. If only Spock’s words were more than a diplomatic symbol.

In his distraction, Jim missed the next order. But he just followed Spock’s lead, pouring a small amount of water on their planted seed.

“Finally, the guest expresses his or her gratitude to the host with a reciprocal physical gesture. In my culture, we would twine tails, though Xirans bump forearms or embrace.” She smiled at them brightly. “Human gestures are welcome!”

Jim looked warily at Spock. Spock, the touch-telepath who shrank away from most gestures. He took in Spock’s gloved hands and an idea struck him.

He extended his hand. Spock, eyes wide, hesitantly took it. Jim ran his thumb across the smooth material of Spock’s glove, firming his grip. Jim was focused on the way Spock’s breath hitched, the way his hand felt hot and strong, not noticing that their handshake had gone on a second too long. Jim let go, belatedly realizing the other groups were all staring at them.

Sucking in a deep gulp of the sweet air, Jim was grateful when Shalisa broke the awkward silence.

“Great job everyone! We’ve completed the ceremony.  _ Sochya _ botanists will take care of these plants in memory of our meeting.” Shalisa seemed pleased with their performance. “We will now visit a washroom so that you may clean your hands. After that, we will resume negotiations.”

She guided them down a dirt path through the arboretum, stopping at an immense doorway. The doorway way was lit with an opaque blue glow, and Jim watched as a strange, eight-winged creature darted near. The dragonfly-esque critter zoomed toward the glow, only to bounce off of it. Shalisa stuck her arm through the glowing border. “This forcefield is programmed to only prevent insects from escaping.” She walked the rest of the way through.

The rest of the group went through the forcefield without incident, though Jim eyed it warily before stepping across the threshold. Spock’s ship was certainly sophisticated, making the  _ Enterprise _ look like last year’s model. Spock had deserved a captaincy of his own but never seemed interested in pursuing it while he was stationed with Jim. He felt a pang of guilt, recalling their actions on Hlish.

They emerged into a corridor with doors on either side of the open hallway. The first thing Jim noticed, though, were the gun-toting security personnel waiting for them. The floor practically sparkled in light gray tile, with white walls and a dark vaulted ceiling. Shalisa pointed to one side of the corridor. “The Federation delegation may use the facilities here. Our team will use the others over on this side.”

“Great!” said Jim, possibly a bit too enthusiastically. He approached the door, expecting it to slide open. He jumped a little as it telescoped open from the center. He went inside, and around a privacy wall there were stalls and two sinks. Jim hung back away from the sink, waiting for the others to file in.

“Well that was nice,” Jim remarked, smiling.

Bones seemed irritated with him, bustling up to one of the sonic sinks. “It  _ was _ nice. Well-thought-out and not something to be mocked.” Bones turned on the taps, and white noise filled the small room.

Nyota sidled up to Jim. “Aren’t you and Spock cozy, holding hands.”

“We shook hands, Uhura. It’s a greeting in our culture which you may have encountered in your studies.”

“Vulcans don’t shake hands, Captain. Their hands are too sensitive, being touch-telepaths. They  _ kiss _ with their hands. Like this.” Uhura grabbed one of Jim’s hands, molding his hand so that the index and middle fingers were extended while the others were curled to his palm.

She mirrored his hand’s position then ran her extended fingers along the back of Jim’s.

“Did you just make out with me?” Jim had a playful expression on his face.

“More importantly, did you just make out with Spock?” she said, sharply, before turning to the sinks.

Jim dismissed the idea easily. Spock and he were just pals, buddies, friends. His mind drifted back to the satisfying strength of Spock’s grip and Spock’s quick little gasp as he ran his thumb across the back of his hand.

Nothing more. Just pals. Right.

It was his turn at the sinks, so he stepped up and vigorously scrubbed the dirt off his hands.

 

* * *

 

They took a quick trip through the decks of the  _ Sochya,  _ riding a lift up seemingly countless decks. Throughout their journey, Shalisa had been telling them about the various species in their crew and their homeworlds.

“That’s Ensign Hobarg, he’s from Gortyt, a planet covered largely in ocean. He can breathe underwater!”

“This is Lieutenant Chamvers, security officer. Her fur protects her from the cold on her arctic homeworld.”

Jim found Shalisa’s constant dialogue to be a welcome distraction, although he could occasionally feel Spock’s lingering gaze on him.

“Here we are!” Shalisa did a slight bounce-bow in front of a wide doorway.

“This will be the primary venue for our negotiations on the  _ Sochya _ .” Spock strode forward, entering the room first.

Jim followed, then stopped after taking a few steps in. The room’s external side and ceiling were transparent, distant stars twinkling in the deep mystery of space. The external side sloped gently into the ceiling. Narrow, graceful support pillars infrequently blocked Jim’s view out into the black.

A rectangular table was set up near the center of the spacious room with chairs on both sides but without chairs at the heads of the table.

Jim caught up to Spock, who had already chosen a seat. Jim took the seat across from him, saying, “You guys are really pulling out all the stops.”

“I am sure I do not know the ‘stops’ to which you refer.” Spock replied as he sunk into his seat.

The rest of the group took positions around the table, and the negotiations began.

Jim opened the discussion. “Ok, now, we’ve talked about trading many types of technology, but what about the rift devices? Can we reach an agreement on their trade?”

Spock’s jaw stiffened, eyes suddenly cold. The change took Jim’s breath away. “Rift devices and their technology will never be traded, and their technology will remain classified.”

Jim didn’t like the sound of that. “Why, Spock? Afraid of what we’d do if we got our filthy hands on your precious machines?”

“This decision was not made lightly. The ethical questions involved in travel through space/time are considerable, Captain.” Spock looked to be getting agitated, hands gripping the edge of the table. The other Xiran delegates looked on with something like fear in their eyes.

Jim wanted to make his point.  “What about Hlish? Seems like you let them have one without even giving them an owner’s manual.”

Spock’s eyes were not quite meeting Jim’s. “Hlish was… a mistake, one which I hope to rectify. Authorities are conducting further investigation as we speak.” 

“Yeah, well, the Federation is interested in the tech. Think of the benefits that we could gain from it!” 

“I assure you, I will not waver on my stance.” Spock and Jim sustained eye contact for a moment. It was Spock who looked away first.

Spock changed the topic. “Let us review proposed dilithium ore trade investment rates. As you know, the Xiran Union has a wealth of resources…”

 

* * *

 

By the time Spock announced it was time for a break, Jim had hatched a plan. It was time to see some real sights on this Xiran ship.

As they rose, Jim whispered to Marcus, “Give me your communicator.”

Marcus gave him a confused look, but handed it to him without complaint.

Spock took off first, not waiting for the rest of the group. Shalisa took over, busily describing varieties of delicious Xiran cuisine, leading them to the door and out to the corridor. Jim lagged behind, turning to one of the security guards posted at the door. “I have to use the washroom, can you take me to the nearest one?”

The guard tapped a small sphere that was pinned onto his uniform, then said something into it. He grunted a few times to confirm his orders, then spoke to Jim. “A security officer will arrive momentarily to escort you to the washroom, Captain.”

“Great.” Jim opened his communicator, and started playing with the settings.

His oversized guard arrived, shuffling up to the door, boredom evident in the set of his heavy, crowded features. He had four eyes, a pair of which were half-lidded. His mouth and nose projected like a muzzle, drooping. “Lieutenant Yurdrn reporting for duty,” he mumbled.

“Take Captain Kirk to Washroom Beta-9. Once he is finished, escort him to the main cafeteria.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jim obediently walked in front of Yurdrn, changing directions as ordered. They had not been walking for long when they reached a deserted four-way intersection. The route they were taking was bisected by another corridor that was on a sharp incline and turned on its way down.

Jim stopped, motioning for Yurdrn to stop too. “I think I hear something strange. Do you hear it? From over there!” Jim pointed ahead. As Yurdrn turned to look, Jim took a step to the side and back, so that he was slightly behind Yurdrn, then slid Marcus’ open communicator down the corridor the way they had come as far as he could.

“Hear nothing,” grunted Yurdrn, grasping Jim’s arm and pulling him in front again.

“Could have sworn…” Jim pulled out his other communicator, pressing send.

“AAAAAAAAAAIIIIII GIIIIIIIBBBBBBBBLLEEEEEE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIII!” A terrible sound rang out in the empty corridor.

Yurdrn jerkily turned an about face, yelling “YOU STAY HERE!” He took his weapon from its holster and stalked in the direction of the sound, one great hand pressing the small sphere on his uniform repeatedly.

The horrid sound repeated, but Jim had already taken off down the descending path. He ran like a bat out of hell through empty halls as the corridor he was on perpetually declined further into the ship.

 

* * *

 

Jim had no direction in mind, and he knew that his deception would not last long. He prayed he would stumble across engineering, or an empty science lab, or even just a plain old computer terminal, but the corridors were bare. He did not dare duck into any of the sealed rooms that occasionally dotted the side halls.

Peaking around the corner of the corridor, he saw a Xiran soldier in full armor talking to an ensign.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in no time -- it’s just standard rifting today. And Bahsu will be there.” The two embraced, then separated and split up.

Jim thought fast -- he could get more information on the rift devices and try to see exactly what they could have done to Spock. Plus, the Federation would love to have additional intel on them. He followed the soldier at a careful distance down the hall, until the soldier stopped and punched in a code at a hip-height hatch about half the size of a doorway. He then opened the hatch, sat down on a ledge inside,and  used a pole across the top to pull himself up while swinging his legs to face down into the depths. Jim watched as the soldier disappeared into the hatch. The door began swinging shut automatically.

Jim dashed over to the hatch before the door could shut. Pulling himself inside, he shoved off the ledge and launched himself down the chute. Sliding down the interior of the chute reminded Jim of waterslides from his childhood. There was a band of lights running along the ceiling, illuminating his journey. He weathered a series of curves that sent him riding high on the sides of the chute. Nervously looking ahead, Jim saw that the path was obstructed and ended in a dead end.

He scrabbled at the smooth surface of the chute, trying to slow his descent before he collided with the unforgiving wall that approached at top speed. His boots found no purchase, and so he curled into a ball, bracing for impact. No impact came, however. He looked behind him to see the ‘wall’ locking securely back into place. Another seemingly dead-end wall approached -- Jim again braced himself, but this time he kept an eye on the ‘wall’ -- it opened before him like clockwork.

The tube began leveling out, slowing Jim’s speed. The slick surface of the chute also began to feel more rough, slowing his progress further. Jim slowly skidded to a halt as the tube broadened and ended at a door with a red light blinking over it.

Jim steadied himself, rising to his feet and approaching the door. “Here goes nothing,” he said under his breath. As the door telescoped open, Jim lunged into the room and hid behind a stack of crates.

There were three rift devices arranged in the hangar Jim now found himself in, huge ones, bigger than the one on Hlish, big enough that you could virtually park a shuttle in the gap in the middle. They were over fifty meters from Jim, but he could see plenty of Xiran soldiers milling around them.

Wanting to get closer, Jim scouted out the rest of the room to no avail. Other than the crates he was hiding behind, there was no cover. And, Jim realised, his position was precarious, as more troops arrived through the chute entrance, coming dangerously close to Jim.

He had contorted his body into a crevasse among the crates, peering through a crack between them.

A familiar whine sounded in the hangar, followed shortly by that same intense pit-of-the-stomach feeling from Hlish. Jim suddenly realised his folly in following the soldier to this point. He didn’t see any easy way out.

The soldiers across the room formed into neat lines in front of the devices, some carrying heavy equipment with them.

The rifts were opening, spiraling open much faster than on Hlish, growing to gargantuan proportions. Thinking about radiation, Jim flipped open his communicator, intending to report that he had gotten ‘lost.’ But the device was not working; it would not even chime.

Giving up all hope of getting out smoothly, Jim stood, breaking cover. He waved his arms around, trying to attract attention, but the soldiers seemed too focused on their tasks to notice Jim.

Jim’s arms felt weary, and he wanted to sit down. He leaned heavily against a stack of crates, knocking them over. The crates thudded against the floor around him as he blacked out.

 

* * *

 

_ Come back to me…  _  Jim heard a familiar voice in the shrouding night, recognizing it as Spock.  _ You must fight, Jim. Do not leave me.  _ He thought of Spock, of teasing him on the bridge and of his familiar face. He remembered his mission: to get Spock back to Earth.  _ Jim, there will be time for missions later. Now, focus on my voice and follow it… _

 

* * *

 

Jim groggily came back to consciousness. “Anyone get the designation of that freighter,” he mumbled, eyes shut.

“There was no freighter involved in this incident, Captain.” Spock’s voice rumbled out, definitely harsher than usual -- the tone reserved for ensigns caught goofing off on duty.

Jim forced his eyes open, taking in his surroundings. He saw four beds with what looked like sensor arrays in place over them in addition to his own. The walls were plain, white and solid looking. One wall had a force field across a doorway, but the field was opaque.

Jim dizzily sat up and looked at Spock, who sat on a bed across from his. He was removing armor pieces from his body, revealing a tight bodysuit underneath. So far he had removed the arm pieces, the helm, and the chest, and was currently bent down in the process of working on removing a boot.

“I guess I‘m in trouble, huh?” Jim asked, wearily.

“You intentionally misled and evaded your security detail, and proceeded into dangerous and classified sections of the ship. Furthermore, you exposed yourself to a near-lethal dose of radiation.” Spock paused in his methodical removal of armor, looking at Jim with hard eyes as he lifted his chin. “Your guess is correct, Captain. I must insist that negotiations no longer be held on the  _ Sochya _ due to your behavior.”

Jim opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. He decided to try a different tactic. “Spock, where are we?”

“We are in a decontamination unit that borders both the rift bay and a secondary medical facility. We both require decontamination.”

“I get that I need it, but why do you? You’re all dressed up in that fancy suit. Doesn’t it protect you?”

“I removed a portion of the armor, breaking its seal against radiation, to ascertain your well-being after bringing you here from the rift bay.”

“You did… what, exactly? Took my pulse?” Jim felt a wave of satisfaction at the idea of Spock looking out for him.

“I... performed a brief mind-meld.”

Jim balked at what Spock might have seen in his head. “That’s pretty intrusive, Spock.”

“It was necessary. I believed you would die, Jim.” Spock looked away. “I believed the radiation would kill you, and I would be helpless, again. We have no miracle cure to resurrect you.”

“I’m not as reckless as you think, Spock. I wouldn’t have gone down that chute if I knew it lead to an active rift.”

“Yet you admit to entering it without knowing where it would lead. There are countless possibilities with outcomes worse than ending up in the rift bay, Captain.” Spock unclipped the boot, placing it on the floor with a  _ clunk. _

“All’s well that ends well. How long are we in here for?”

“We will need to experience three courses of treatment in addition to the one that has already passed. Treatment occurs every fifteen minutes.” Spock removed his other boot with another  _ clunk.  _ “I approximate we will be confined to these quarters for the next 51.54 minutes.”

“Great.” Jim already felt antsy. He watched as Spock stood to remove the pants section of his armor, which ran down to his knees and no further. Spock turned to face away from Jim, hands running down the outside of his thighs, pressing buttons and undoing clasps.

Jim passively watched Spock, curious about the action of the armor. He noticed the ripple of musculature in Spock’s back and arms as his motions made him bend slightly at the waist. The armor unclasped down a seam on the right side and then hinged away on the left, peeling away in moulded panels from his flesh.

Jim’s traitorous brain short-circuited on the phrase ‘ _ nice ass’ _  when Spock bent to place the armor on the ground. He blinked rapidly, refocusing his gaze on Spock’s shoulders, which, his brain chimed in, were also quite nice.

Jim was an open-minded guy; he was used to being attracted to all types of people: alien, human, male, female, trans- or other-gendered. But this was the first time he found himself noticing Spock. Sure, he knew Spock was handsome, in the way all guys were aware of their peers, but he had never thought of him as attractive. Until now.

Jim scrubbed at his eyes. He needed to rest. This was all too much. “I’m just take a little nap, Spock.”

“Sleep, Jim.”

Jim closed his eyes on Spock sitting in a meditation pose on the bed.

 

* * *

 

Another dream plagued Jim’s rest, a variation on the mystery-man dream he had a few nights ago. This time, his strong lover was carrying Jim across his quarters, his legs wrapped around the man’s waist.

Depositing him gently on the edge of the desk, the man ran his fingers over the nape of Jim’s neck and spine, cupping Jim’s check with the other hand. Jim busily grabbed the man’s ass, pulling their groins into alignment, letting out a groan as his dick felt the pulse of another through layers of clothing. They kissed messily, grinding against each other, and Jim reached up to caress a pointed ear.

_ “Spock,”  _ Jim moaned. A hand reached for him, grasping his shoulder...

And shaking. Jim snapped awake. Spock stared down at him, looking concerned. “You were having a nightmare, Jim.” He could smell the unique scent that he had always associated with the  _ Enterprise _ and safety, but now recognised as Spock. Jim’s dick twitched hopefully.

“It was just a dream, Admiral. You can relax.” Jim shifted awkwardly under the blankets. “How much longer until we’re free?”

“We have two treatments remaining. I approximate 16.27 minutes until our release.”

“I slept through a treatment?” Jim felt better, but he knew that no one had disrupted his sleep until Spock shook him awake.

“They are non-invasive and administered remotely. Another treatment approaches. Do not be alarmed.”

“Alarmed about what?” Jim apprehensively sat up at the head of the bed, drawing his knees up.

The cabin was flooded with a great white light, blinding Jim momentarily. The light dimmed slightly, then  focused into a beam of light which traveled across the room, panning back and forth as if in a search grid.

It reached Spock first, who sat serenely on the edge of his bed, locking on to him and illuminating him brightly for a few seconds.

Jim warily edged off the bed and away from the light’s search pattern.

“Jim, do not avoid treatment. It is illogical.”

“I wish I knew what that thing does!” Jim dodged as the light beam approached his location again.

“While the precise nature of the function of the treatment is classified, I can say that it heals radiation toxicity. Jim, desist.”

Jim sighed and ceased his attempts at dodging, allowing the beam to overcome him. He felt sensations of cold and weightlessness before the light went away and he was back to himself.

“Weird.” Jim walked back to the bed he had claimed as his own, sitting down across from Spock.

“I will have my medical staff forward you the details of your treatment once it is complete.”

“Super.” Jim focused on the time remaining. Not on the curve of Spock’s lower lip, or counting the strands of grey that infrequently peppered Spock’s hair.

Standing abruptly, Spock paced in the empty area of the room at the end of the bed. “Captain, I have a confession to make. I saw, in your mind, an impression that related to your mission.”

“Tell me what you saw, Spock.” Worry made Jim’s fists clench. Spock saw the mission?

“I am aware that you have been tasked with returning me to Earth for questioning by Starfleet Command.” 

Jim tried to relax. “Spock, I would never force you to do anything against your will. I just want the chance to persuade you to come back to Earth.”

“There would have to be… concessions… from the Federation to mollify the Union. They will not allow me to travel so far from the home planet without significant merit.”

“Allow you? Why? Can’t you go wherever you want?” Jim rose from the bed as well, walking toward Spock.

“My responsibilities are great, Captain.”

“We’ll persuade them, Spock. You’ll be able to come back to Earth, see the Bay again, get some great food and meditate to your heart’s content. It’ll be a drag to have to appear in front of the white-hairs of Command, but honestly, how long would that take?” Jim walked around Spock, smiling optimistically.

“You minimize the weight of my position, Captain.” Spock finally met his gaze. “I will make overtures among the Parliament to determine if I may go to Earth.”

“Great.” Jim grinned at Spock. A companionable silence descended.

Spock moved to restack his armor near the door, picking up a few pieces at a time. Jim perched on the end of Spock’s bed, watching him wistfully.  

“Hey, did you recognise that sound?” Jim’s grin nearly split his face in two.

“To what do you refer?” 

“That horrible sound I played on the communicator to distract Yurdrn, you know, Aiiiiiiiii gggggiiiiiiiiibbbbbbll…”

Spock’s eyebrow crept up his forehead as he hefted the chest piece of his armor. “Cease your impression. I recognised it. It is the call of the species you wished to name the ‘turkosaurus,’ as I recall.” 

“It looked like a dinosaur turkey and it spat ink all over Bones!”

“He was unable to synthesize a compound to remove the dye from his skin.”

“Yeah, he was purple for a week, until you finally diverted some science officers to help him out.”

“He was not in any danger.”

“You enjoyed seeing him like that, Spock.”

Across the room, Spock makes no comment. He came back to Jim, picked up the armor boots, then turned to carry them to the shielded doorway.

An idea struck Jim, one he found he didn’t like at all.

“They treat you all right here, Spock?” Spock did not answer, fussing with his armor. Jim grabbed his arm, pulling Spock up to face him. “Are you happy with the Xirans?”

“My situation is a necessary one.”

“That’s not an answer, Spock.”

“The final treatment will occur in less than sixty seconds.” Spock turned away, facing the shielded door. 

Jim hesitated, feeling weak. “I hope you are happy. Someone should be. It has to be obvious that there’s a Vulcan-sized hole in the  _ Enterprise’s _ heart.”

Spock looked at the floor. “Treatment will occur in 30 seconds.”

“And what kind of explanation have you offered to explain why you can’t come back? Duty, responsibility? What about your responsibility to Starfleet? To your crew? To me?” Jim sputters to a stop. 

“I have learned much about responsibility in my time among the Xirans, Captain. More than I ever wished to learn.”

“Cut the cryptic crap, Spock. Are they holding you here against your will?”  

Spock did not turn around. “No, Jim, I am here of my own accord. Final treatment in three, two, one.” 

Bright light washed over the room and focused on Spock, then Jim. Immediately afterwards, the opaque forcefield came down, revealing a squad of Xiran security officers, a host of what looked like Xiran medical personnel, and one red-faced, angry Bones. 

“Nice stunt, Captain. Nearly got yourself killed, again.” Bones’ medical scanner whirred over Jim’s form as Spock stalked out of the room, surrounded immediately by the medical staff. 

One Xiran peeled away from the others in security and addressed Jim coldly. “You are no longer welcome aboard the  _ UXSS Sochya.  _ We will escort you to a transporter bay where we will beam you back to your ship.”

“ _ And,” _ Bones continued as they walked out of the decontamination facility, “the only tour of their medical facilities I got was directly to the data terminals monitoring your life signs. With an armed guard babysitting me. The little they are willing to share about their voodoo-like decontamination procedure carefully obfuscates all details but your vital signs and completely omits any information on the technology that treated you. You had a deadly dose of radiation; they did something. I can’t make heads or tails of this beyond that. Yet, here you are: pushing the limits of my patience instead of pushing up daisies.”

“Well, that’s a good thing right? Not dead? Everyone happier that way, right?” The guard they were following stopped to key in a code on a door, and they proceeded through the now-open doorway.

“We’ll see who’s happy after your stay in my medical bay.” Bones rubbed his brow wearily, allowing himself to be herded up onto a raised platform in the center of the room. “The rest of the team has already beamed back to the  _ Enterprise _ . Got nothing more than that done, as you managed to stay undetected for about thirty seconds.”

Jim stepped up on the platform as well. His fists clenched as he refrained from responding.

From the side of the room, a Xiran crewman called out, “Cleared to transport to the  _ Enterprise _ .”

The lead security officer’s voice boomed out “Energise.” Jim closed his eyes as they beamed back to his ship.


	4. Navigation

Jim was in deep in thought when he was ripped from his ruminations by a loud clatter. Bones had angrily pounded the tray of instruments in his tirade.

“...Are you even paying attention? I’m trying to make sure you haven’t been turned into some sort of Xiran worker-drone and you just zone out.”

“Bones, I’m fine. I already told you all I know about the treatment -- big light, feel better after. You want more information than I can give you. I haven’t been mind-controlled or replaced with a clone.”

“That’s what a clone would say.” Bones let out a huff or air. “I’m clearing you for duty. Just, no more suicidal plans.”

“It wasn’t suicidal!” Jim jumped off the biobed and headed towards the doors. “Debriefing in two hours, Bones,” he called over his shoulder as he left medbay.

 

* * *

 

Back in his own quarters, Jim slumped and leaned against the wall. He knew he had to update Starfleet with the information he had gleaned from the trip to the  _ Sochya _ , but he felt worn thin. He looked across his quarters, eyes alighting on the three-dimensional chess set that still had the pieces in place from the game he and Spock still had in-progress.

Jim picked up the black king, Spock’s king, and tightened his fist around it. Spock had seen the objective to return to Earth in his mind, in the meld. Instead of resisting, Spock had merely said that there would have to be concessions from the Federation. That was progress, he supposed, though Spock’s reluctance still stung. He ran his thumb around the black king’s crown, then carried it with him through the partition and to his bed, grabbing a PADD as he passed his current stack.

Setting the king on his bedside table, he groaned, thinking of Spock shaking him out of his sex dream. He hoped Spock hadn’t picked up any of that through the meld. He was pretty sure Spock was not his biggest fan at the moment, and that would just add insult to injury. 

There was nothing to do but work through it. He started typing up notes for the debriefing he’d need to run in two hours.

 

* * *

 

Back in the familiar walls of Conference Room One, the  _ Enterprise’s _ negotiations team was united in one opinion: Jim was an idiot for getting himself almost killed.

“And I thought  _ Spock _ was bad for nearly martyring himself!” Uhura was obviously incensed, Marcus nodding along at her side. Bones brooded darkly in the corner, not adding much to the discussion, his opinion already quite obvious.

“What more do you want me to say? I know what I did was stupid!” Jim slouched in his chair, “But let’s get back to what we have learned about the  _ Sochya,  _ Spock, and the Xiran tech.”

Marcus sat up, addressing the room. “The  _ Sochya _ seemed to have at least comparable tech to current Federation ships. We did not get to look at their engineering, medical, or science facilities, other than the arboretum where we began our visit. We have no idea what their weapons capabilities are, so our estimation of their technology is very limited.

“Based on your report, Captain Kirk, we know that they are using rift machines on the  _ Sochya,  _  though their use and purpose is still a mystery. We also know that they have treatments for radiation poisoning that surpass our capacity, though we have no information on the nature of these treatments.

“In the disorder that followed your ploy to get away from the guards, I overheard the Xiran officers talking about something or someone called Bahsu. This is just another question to add to our mounting list.” Marcus sat back. “As for Mr. Spock, well, Captain, did you make any progress with him while you were in the decontamination room?”

“He told me that there would have to be concessions made by the Federation to mollify the Xiran Union’s government, if he were to personally go to Earth.” Jim looked up from his PADD. “I don’t know what specifically the Xiran Union would want, other than perhaps better trade investment rates or borders favoring them.

“Ok, everyone, we’ve gone over what we know. I’ll make up my final report to Starfleet at the end of shift. Let’s head back to our stations. Dismissed.”

As the other two shuffled out, Bones came to a stop by Jim and grasped his shoulder tightly. Jim looked up, wearily ready for another lecture. Bones moved on after sustaining eye contact with him for a moment, slowly shaking his head.

Jim sat in the conference room for a moment alone, mind blank, staring at the  _ Sochya _ through the window.

 

* * *

 

On the bridge again, Jim sat in the command chair, typing up his report. He had reviewed the communications from  _ Sochya’s  _ Captain Dhar that had occurred while he was being treated, but they were just requests to return the negotiations team to the  _ Enterprise _ ahead of schedule.  

“Incoming hail from the  _ Sochya _ ,” intoned Uhura, spinning in her chair to look at Jim.

“Onscreen,” Jim answered, sitting up and setting his PADD aside.

The bridge of the  _ Sochya _ snapped into view. Captain Dhar rose and addressed them. “Hello, Captain Kirk. We are pleased to see that your recovery from your… accident… is complete.”

“Yeah, I feel great. What’s new? How is Admiral Spock?” Jim thought he could see lines of displeasure creep across Dhar’s tightening brow.

“The Admiral has also recovered from the radiation poisoning that he too had sustained. He has spent the time since he was cleared by medical on comms with the Xiran Parliament. Despite much disagreement and my personal misgivings, he had decided that it is logical to continue negotiations on Earth, if a list of stipulations are met.” Dhar did indeed look unhappy to relate the news.

“Glad to hear it. What are the stipulations?” Jim had to hold back a grin, excited at the prospect of bringing Spock to Starfleet.

“We are forwarding the list to your ship’s communications array. Please alert the  _ Sochya  _ when you and your superiors have reviewed the proposal and have come to a decision about its viability.”

“I’ll get right to it.” Jim was on his feet already.

“Terminate the feed,” Dhar ordered, and the bridge’s viewscreen went back to its view of stars, Hlish, and the  _ Sochya. _

“Well, let’s hear that list of requirements, Lieutenant Uhura.” 

Uhura scanned the data at her terminal quickly. “Captain, if I may offer a summary?”

“Go ahead.” Jim walked over to lean against the wall near the communication station.

“They enumerate several clauses. One: Admiral Spock is to be treated as a visiting Xiran diplomat, not as a Starfleet officer. Two: while he may answer questions posed to him by Starfleet Command and the Federation Council, he cannot be compelled to answer them. Three: the Xiran negotiations team will accompany him along with a Xiran security detail including personal bodyguards. Four: the meeting will occur in San Francisco and Spock shall not travel out of the region known as California. Five: the meeting on Earth will last only three days, with one day allocated for travel in each direction, meaning the Xiran party would need to be returned to Xiran space in five days total. Six: if any of these clauses are violated, or if Admiral Spock or any member of the Xiran party is detained, arrested, harmed, or otherwise interfered with, the Xirans will see it as an act of war. Finally: if further negotiations are required, they will occur on Xira.

“The document goes into more specifics. I have forwarded it to your PADD, Captain.” Uhura looked at Jim with some consternation. “Another note on the transmission: there was a communication piggybacking the terms. The data included is simply the information for a private Starfleet group messaging channel. They encrypted it using Starfleet secure-messaging protocols. If they can encrypt using our protocols, it means that they can probably decrypt our messages to Starfleet Command.”

“ _ Wonderful _ . Think that’s Spock’s handiwork?” Jim felt betrayed, and confused. 

“Zhe Commander led zhe last update major to zhe protocol while at zhe Academy, Keptin.” Chekov looked puzzled. “But why would he show us zhat zhey know zhe protocol? It makes no sense if zhey wanted to intercept our messages.”

“A good point, Ensign. Lieutenant Uhura, have Communications monitor all outgoing transmissions, screening any that have potentially sensitive information. Alert Starfleet Command of the breach in our communication security.” 

“Yes, Captain.” Uhura turned back to her station.

“Lieutenant Marcus, get together with Commander Scott to make sure our deflector shields operate at a non-standard Federation frequency. We wouldn’t want Spock to be able to get under our shields in addition to whatever inside information he has already learned.”

Jim scrubbed his brow as he sat down heavily. “Send me the data contained in the second transmission, Lieutenant.”

Reviewing the address information, Jim realised that it was quite familiar. He and Spock used it as a place to send each other informal reminders or comments that they were not ready to have registered into the official record. Things like minor disagreements, notes on crew performance, and reminders to eat or sleep all wound up in that address’s inbox. The inbox was currently empty, since it deleted and scrubbed messages once they were received. 

Why the Xirans would send it to him now, encoded as it had been, completely blew Jim’s mind. 

Alpha shift would end soon, and he needed to make a report to Starfleet. No doubt it would be intercepted and read by the Xirans. With that grim thought in mind, Jim started typing up his report.

 

* * *

 

Waking from a restless sleep, Jim threw his blankets back, uncomfortable and weary. He reached out to turn the lights on, then grabbed a PADD to check his messages. Something clattered to the ground as his fingers brushed past it. He slid to the edge of his bed and looked down, finding Spock’s king rolling slowly on the floor.

He picked the chess piece up, suddenly angry again, and hurled it across the room. It collided with the wall with a light  _ thwack _ as Jim rolled into a sitting position. He held his head in his hand, anger slipping away as fast as it had come. “Goddamnit, Spock,” he muttered. 

He brought the PADD up to his face and saw that there were a few new messages for his review. Most were simply requisition forms filled in by the department heads for new equipment or replacement parts. One stood out: a recorded message from New Vulcan.

He played the message, and saw Ambassador Selek’s face resolve on the screen. 

“Jim, I hope this message finds you well.” Selek held up the ta’al. “I have heard of the Spock of this timeline’s apparent defection to the newly-discovered Xiran Union. I cannot imagine the events that would lead to such an action… I hope to impart some insight, though it is meager. I would never divulge Federation secrets unless I was beyond hopelessness. Your Spock may not be identical to myself, but he is not a coward, and I cannot imagine him a traitor. Do not forsake all belief in him.

“Live long and prosper, Jim.” Selek terminated the recording.

Jim flopped back onto the bed, thoughts whirling through his head. No matter what old-Spock said, Spock must have leaked information on Federation technology and their encryption policies to the Xirans. But there was still the great mystery around how Spock and the Xirans came together. 

Roughly pulling his blankets back over himself, Jim sank back into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

When his alarm sounded, Jim felt like he had barely even slept. On his way to his dresser, he stepped on something hard and irregularly shaped. “What the hell?” he exclaimed, looking down to find the black king on the floor, now with the cross on its crown broken off. Rubbing his foot with annoyance, he picked the two pieces up, slotting them back together for a moment. He gingerly set them back on the three-dimensional chess board, contemplating the game in progress. Spock had been defending Jim’s offensive moves, but neither were in check, as the game was still in the early stages. Jim tore his attention away from the game board and hurriedly donned his uniform.

He nearly miscoded the turbolift’s destination once he had gotten himself ready and out the door. On the bridge, he blinked wearily before making his way to the command chair. Sulu vacated it for him, sliding down to the helm station.

“Commander Sulu, report.” Jim knew his voice was a little rough, as he rubbed one eye and thought longingly about non-synthesized coffee.

“It’s been a quiet shift, Captain: no new communications from the  _ Sochya _ or from Starfleet. Communications has been monitoring our broadcasts in case the Xirans are eavesdropping.” Sulu grimaced at Jim. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Go ahead.” 

“You look like hell. Maybe you should check in with Dr. McCoy?” Sulu seemed worried, but Jim impatiently waved his concern away.

“I’m fine, just had a hard time getting to sleep.” Jim steepled his fingers, staring out into the depths of space that were projected onto the viewscreen. He got to work processing requests and reading reports from various departments. While he was doing this, his PADD beeped. Reading the origination data, he knew that the new message was from the admiralty. 

He read through the information contained, unsurprised by the conclusions Admiral Chandra had expressed on behalf of the Federation Council and Starfleet Command.

“Alright, boys and girls, looks like we’re playing taxi for Spock.” The lightness of Jim’s words were at war with the solemness of his expression. Jim’s feelings of giddiness at the thought of having Spock back aboard the _Enterprise_ were at war with his feelings of betrayal _._ “Uhura, hail the _Sochya_.”

“Yes, Captain,” Uhura said distractedly as she busily worked at her station.

The  _ Socha’s _ bridge came onto the screen, with Spock standing, hands clasped behind his back, in the very back of the frame.

“The United Federation of Planets accepts the terms of the Xiran Union. The USS  _ Enterprise _ will be proud to serve as the vehicle that transports the Xiran delegation to Earth.” Jim felt his smile crack as he uttered the last phrase.

“Very well. When may the delegation beam over to the Enterprise?” It was clear from his tone that Captain Dhar was highly displeased to be uttering those words. Jim knew the feeling. Spock stepped forward to stand at Dhar’s side. Jim felt like he was seeing him for the first time: as someone alien and threatening, a stranger in a strange uniform. Bile rose in his throat at the thought.

“Give us a few hours to make sure we have the accommodations ready. We’ll be in touch. Kirk out.” As the broadcast terminated, Kirk got to his feet.

“Prepare the VIP quarters on Deck 2 for the Xiran delegation. And by prepare, I mean set all data terminals to civilian-level access only.” Jim frowned, knowing that his next step could prove to be over the line. “Have the terminal in Spock’s quarters actively monitored, forwarding any content he accesses to me.”

Uhura’s brows tightened with worry as she forwarded the commands out to the Enterprise crew.

“Finally, alert Lieutenant Hendorff to post officers near all critical junctures on Deck 2, as well as to implement the same security protocols as were used during the negotiations on the  _ Enterprise  _ three days ago. I’ll review his plans after I tour the quarters to ensure that the terminals are locked down.”

“Sulu, you have the Conn.” Jim left the bridge to enter his ready room. On the other side of closed doors, he dropped his composure, anger coloring his features.

 

* * *

 

After touring the quarters planned for the Xiran delegation and personally testing the safeguards built into the modified terminals, Jim met with Lieutenant Hendorff to go over the security plans. The plans were in good order, though Hendorff seemed reluctant to depart after they concluded their meeting.

He lingered at the ready room’s door. “Do you really think that Mr. Spock or the rest of his delegation will try something funny? What are we preparing for, exactly?” Hendorff looked concerned. 

“Best to be ready for anything, Cupcake.” Jim got up, following Hendorff out.

The bridge was calm as Jim strode into the center of the room. Sulu got up smartly, taking the helm. 

“Anything new, Commander Sulu?” Jim asked.

“Everything is quiet, Captain. Nothing to report.” 

“Then we are ready to entertain guests. Hail the Xirans.”

The viewscreen transitioned to show the bridge of the  _ Sochya.  _ “Greetings, Captain Kirk.” Captain Dhar stood at the forefront. Spock was nowhere to be seen.

“Greetings, Captain Dhar. The _ Enterprise _ is ready to receive the delegation. Use the coordinates that we have supplied.” Jim nodded to Uhura.

“Our delegation will beam over in three groups: we are sending the security personnel and bodyguards in the first two groups, and finally the Admiral and negotiations team.” Dhar stepped closer to the camera, looming large. “Be careful with our people, Captain. Especially Admiral Spock. The Xiran Union values him highly. If anything untoward should happen to him, the Xiran Union would look for retribution.”

“Don’t worry, Captain Dhar, we’ll take good care of him. It’ll be just like coming home, I’m sure.” Jim kept his features schooled under a polite facade. “Begin beaming the personnel over whenever you are ready. Kirk out.”

After the communication terminated, Jim stormed off the bridge, making his way to the transporter bay.

 

* * *

 

Arriving at the transporter bay, Jim heard raised voices. One voice was recognizably Hendorff. “... can’t keep those weapons onboard!”

Kirk looked around the room, taking in the tense poses of twelve Xirans who were facing off with his security personnel. They had revolver-sized, slate-grey weapons holstered at their sides, handles gleaming dangerously. At the forefront of the Xiran group, a tall, muscular Xiran stood out. He barked back at Hendorff, “We have been charged with the safety of the Admiral! We need our weapons to protect him!”

“You won’t find anything threatening here on the  _ Enterprise _ . Hello, I’m Captain Kirk.” Jim managed a tight smile. 

“I am Lieutenant Commander Filik. I am in charge of the guard accompanying Admiral Spock.” Filik did not even attempt a smile as he replied. 

Behind the Xiran party, the transporter pads began to show a swirl of light.

Filik continued, “And I will assess any threats myself, with weapon in tow.” Filik had his hand on his holstered weapon, his gaze focused on Lieutenant Hendorff. 

On the transporter pads, the swirling lights resolved into the forms of Spock, Veersha, Bifar, Dex, and Shalisa. Quickly taking in the tension apparent in the room, Spock called out, “Lieutenant Commander, what is the meaning of this?”

“They have ordered us to surrender our weapons, Admiral.” Filik never took his eyes off Hendorff. “I am not comfortable doing so.”

The group parted before Spock as he came down off the platform to stand by Filik. “In my experience, the correct action is not always the most comfortable.” Spock met Kirk’s gaze. “My security contingent will release their weapons to your care, Captain.” Filik bristled, ready to object, as Spock continued, “The crew of the  _ Enterprise _ is honorable and true, and I trust they have our safe conveyance in mind. Surrender your weapons.” Begrudgingly, Filik and the rest of Xiran security handed their weapons over to Hendorff’s men.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Admiral.” Despite his words, instead of feeling complimented by Spock’s faith in his crew, Jim’s sense of betrayal mounted. After all, wasn’t Spock once part of the crew, sharing their trust? Yet he had deserted them.

“Please allow Lieutenant Hendorff to escort you to the quarters we have allocated for your stay aboard the  _ Enterprise _ .” Jim looked at Spock, taking in his foreign uniform and self-assured demeanor. “Admiral Spock, if I may have a word before you settle in?”

“Of course, Captain.” Spock’s calm façáde was marred by the fact that he was not meeting Jim’s eyes. 

“I will accompany the Admiral.” Filik’s tone brooked no argument, and the three set off into the corridors of the  _ Enterprise. _

Spock turned to Jim as they walked, asking, “Are we heading for Conference Room Seven?”

“Indeed we are, Admiral. Seems like you still remember your way around the ship.” Jim felt his anger simmer under his calm surface.

When they arrived at the conference room, Filik insisted on inspecting it before Spock entered. After the room passed his scrutiny, he barked out a gruff, “All clear, Admiral.”

“Wait outside, Lieutenant Commander.” Spock followed Jim into the plain room, much smaller than Conference Room One. It held a circular table with five chairs. Neither man sat.

Across the table from Spock, Jim spat out, “So what’s the deal with the weaponry and guards, Spock? Don’t trust the Federation with your safety anymore?” Jim crossed his arms angrily.

Spock stood in his familiar parade-rest stance, looking quizzically at Jim. “I do trust the Federation, Captain. Rather, the order to send security on this mission came from the Xiran Parliament. They think you are not conducive to my continued well-being.”

Jim’s face flushed as he registered Spock’s words. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Knowing that your government thinks of me as, what? Inept? Dangerous?” 

“To be blunt, ‘dishonest’ is likely the most apt term due to your deception aboard the  _ Sochya.”  _ Spock shifted slightly, crossing his arms in a posture mirroring Jim’s.

Losing his composure, Jim sneered at Spock, “Dishonest!? Really, me? Well, I guess they are used to dealing with  _ you _ .” 

“To what do you refer?”

“You gave them the Federation’s encryption protocols. Did they torture you, Spock, or did you just trade information about our tech for that nice stiff Admiral’s collar?” Spock took a half-step back, though he met Jim’s glare with his own dark stare.

“You cannot conceive of what has led to these events, Captain.”

“Enlighten me. I’d love to know what exactly it took to turn my dutiful first officer into a traitor.”

“Enough!” roared Spock, hands coming down to grip tightly at the back of the chair in front of him. “Enough, Jim. I know that I owe you an explanation, but you must have patience. Suffice to say I did not give the Xiran Union any information that I thought would ever be used against the Federation.”

“You obviously thought wrong, Spock. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Jim cocked his head at Spock. “How long have the Xirans been listening in to encrypted Federation broadcasts?”

“The Xiran Union has never listened to encrypted Federation broadcasts. I was the one to send that transmission, and no others were involved.“ 

“Why would you do that? That’s like showing your hand in a game of poker.” Jim frowned, disbelieving.

“I will give a full report to Command when I am called before them.” Spock turned away, gaze directed at the ground. “Please have patience, Jim.”

“ _ Patience?” _ Jim growled out. “My patience is nearly worn through.” 

“I regret causing you distress. I regret many things, though I find it difficult to regret that which has returned me here, now. It seemed exceedingly unlikely that I would ever see the  _ Enterprise  _ again.” Spock turned back to the table, walking around it to stand by Jim’s side. “I believed that I would never see you again, Jim.” Spock’s posture was as rigid as ever, but Jim saw something in his eyes, a softness that was not normally there. The anger that consumed Jim slipped away.

“Missed me, yeah?” Jim asked, in a light, teasing tone.

Spock reached out and touched Jim’s bicep, gripping it firmly. “Affirmative.”

Jim stilled at Spock’s touch, suddenly reminded of his attraction to his former first officer. He swallowed thickly, reluctantly pulling away.

“Let’s get you to those quarters.”  Jim pivoted abruptly, feeling the imprint of Spock’s warm hand like a brand on his skin.

 

* * *

 

After seeing Spock and his shadow, Filik, to the quarters on Deck 2, Jim headed back to the bridge. 

“Keptin on the bridge!” Chekov called out as Jim entered.

“Estimated time of arrival at Earth?” Jim asked, looking to Chekov.

“23.1 hours, Keptin.” Chekov answered.

“Right on schedule. Lieutenant Uhura, get a message to the Xiran team that negotiations will resume in an hour.” Jim needed some time to reflect on Spock’s words. He rubbed his arm, sitting down in the command chair.

He grabbed his PADD, surprised at the number of alerts he had. Opening one, he discovered that nearly all were notices of Spock’s activity on the monitored terminal in his quarters.

Curious, Jim skimmed the list of accessed articles. Old videos of Sarek and Amanda arriving at political functions, views of San Francisco, publicity photos of the post-Narada  _ Enterprise _ crew. Looking at a paparazzi photo of himself and Spock walking across the grounds of Starfleet HQ, Jim felt strangely nostalgic.  

When the feed turned to landscapes of Shi’Kahr, Jim turned the PADD off. The voyeuristic thrill he initially felt left him.

He checked the time: twenty minutes until the start of the next meeting. Standing, he addressed the bridge. “I’m going to go collect Bones. Sulu, you have the Conn.”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know, Bones! I don’t know what I expected, but he’s just looking up information about his mom and dad, stuff like that. I feel bad for having him monitored.”

Inside Bones’ office, Jim paced restlessly. 

“Well, I can’t blame you for not trusting him.” Bones sighed, “That hobgoblin was hard to read even when he was with  _ us. _ ”

“Nah, he wasn’t hard to read.” Jim thought of the stubborn slant of Spock’s shoulders, the proud cant of his chin, his often-raised eyebrow. “You just weren’t looking at him right, Bones.”

“Looking at him right? Where should I have been looking?” Bones sat up straight, peering hard at Jim. “No, Jim. No, no no no, no. Just no.” His face has lost some of its color.

Jim stops pacing. “What?”  

“Don’t play innocent! You’ve got some schoolgirl crush on Spock!”

Mortified, Jim replied, “Hey, hold on, wait a minute. James Tiberius Kirk does not have crushes.”

“Like hell you don’t. The way you looked just then… you’re twitterpated!” Bones covered his face with his hands, shoulders shaking from laughter. 

Jim’s face flamed red at the accusation, his stance becoming awkward. “I can’t… Bones, you know there isn’t anything between Spock and I.”

Bones sobered, saying, “I know, kid, I know. And you know there can’t be. It would have been complicated before his disappearance.” Bones stood up, walking around his desk to face Jim. “I need a drink.”

Jim cracked a weak smile. “We’ll get one when we’re back on Earth.” Jim punched Bones lightly on the arm. “Let’s go make a treaty, yeah?” 

Bones followed him out, muttering something unintelligible about Vulcans and puppy dog eyes.

 

* * *

 

Voices rang out into the corridor as Jim and Bones approached the conference room. There were two sets of guards posted around the door, standing stiffly. The Xirans had taken the right side, with Starfleet on the left. Filik cast dirty looks at Hendorff every so often, but peace prevailed.

“Play nice, guys,” Jim said glibly as he passed through the doorway.

Inside, both negotiation teams were idly chatting. Spock was nowhere to be seen. Jim tamped down on his disappointment.

He sat down next to Uhura and tuned in to the conversation she was having with Shalisa. They both looked troubled, strain apparent in Shalisa’s drawn face.  “In all his time on Xira, he never mentioned the destruction of his home world. The Admiral is known for his reticence, but we did not expect an omission of this scale.”

Bifar looked like he wanted to chime in, but Shalisa continued, wistfully, “Perhaps he spoke of it to one of his companions.” Jim looked askance at Uhura, noticing the peculiar emphasis on the word “companions.” A slight shrug of one shoulder was her only response.

Bifar’s deep voice cut in, “Cease your speculations, Lieutenant. Please forgive her, Captain. Admiral Spock’s past has ever been the subject of idle gossip, and he has perpetually protected his right to privacy.

“Remember, Shalisa, the Admiral languished in prison for five years because our government wished to acquire his knowledge of future technology.” 

Jim sensed an opportunity to gain information. “How did he get out of that?” 

As if just realizing he had revealed even more, Bifar seemed slightly stunned by Jim’s question.  “A compromise was reached, weighted heavily in Admiral Spock’s favor.” Bifar’s tone permitted no further questions as he stared straight into Jim’s eyes.

Jim was about to test Bifar’s patience when the door to the conference room hissed open, revealing Spock. 

“I apologise for my tardiness.” Spock took the empty seat across from Jim. “Let us begin.”

Shooting Bifar a hard look, Jim plunged into the negotiations. “I think you wanted to go over our restrictions on the trade of weaponry… “

 

* * *

 

By the time the meeting ended, Jim vibrated with suppressed energy. Everyone filed out quickly, all of them glad to be free from the deadlocked discussion. The Xirans seemed to be heading to the mess hall, talking about foods of the Federation with Uhura.

Last to leave the room, Jim found Spock waiting in the corridor outside. “What’s up, Admiral?” Jim asked.

“I would like to request permission to access the  _ Enterprise’ _ s gymnasium.”

“Yeah, I think hitting the gym’s a good idea. You have my permission. I’ll alert security to accompany you.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“No problem, Spock. I’m actually heading there too, once I wrap up a few things. See you there?”

“Affirmative.” Jim watched as Spock strode off with guards in tow. 

Jim turned the other way, intending to catch up with the others.

 

* * *

 

Tracking them down quickly, Jim spotted his target at the mess hall’s synthesizer. Lieutenant Shalisa was cautiously picking up a dish with Lieutenant Marcus at her side. Jim approached the pair.

“What is ‘pasta’ made from? It contains no meat, right?” Shalisa frowned dubiously at her meal. 

“Pasta is made from wheat, which is a plant grown on Earth.” Marcus grinned, seeing Jim drawing near. “Are you hungry after that long debate, Captain?”

“I am indeed, Lieutenant.” Looking at Shalisa’s vegetarian entree, Jim grudgingly set his order into the synthesizer.

“A salad, Captain? Let me go tell Dr. McCoy what a good boy you’ve been.” Marcus headed towards the table where the rest of the negotiations team sat. 

“Lieutenant Shalisa, that table looks a little crowded. Why don’t you and I sit over there?” Jim nodded at an empty table across the room from the others.

“Of course, Captain.” Shalisa followed Jim to the table, sitting across from him.

“So, you must be excited to see Earth.” Jim poked at his salad, but kept his eyes trained on Shalisa.

Shalisa sat up straighter. “Yes, I am excited to see Earth; Admiral Spock described it as a beautiful place in the mission briefing before we disembarked the  _ Sochya _ . He positively gushed about it.” 

Jim tried to imagine Spock gushing, and failed. “So you are well acquainted with the Admiral?”

“Admiral Spock is very reserved, but I and all of the Union hold him with deep regard. We would not have been able to get to this point in history without him.” Over Shalisa’s shoulder, Jim noticed Lieutenant Bifar looking at their table.

“He’s a pretty remarkable guy, isn’t he.” Jim smiled along with her, though mentally his gears were turning. “How long has the Admiral been with the Xiran Exploratory Force?”

“Since its inception. In fact, he helped write its charter.” Shalisa looked at her pasta dish, frowning. “Is all food from your home-world so bland?”

“No, next time try asking for a curry, that’s much more spicy.” Jim glanced back at Bifar, who got up and headed toward Jim. Obviously he saw what Jim was doing: mining for information.

Jim sat back, affecting an attitude of casualness. “So Spock’s been on Xira for a while, right?”

“Oh yes, a very long time. My great-grandmother saved holovids of when he was found. It was quite a story back then.” 

Bifar reached their table and interrupted their conversation. “Forgive me, Captain, but I need to confer with my colleague about the current state of the negotiations.” He put his hand on Shalisa’s arm, insistently tugging her away with him.

“Thanks, Lieutenant Shalisa!” Jim wished he could have gotten more out of her. The information he had was so vague. Time to seek answers from the source.

 

* * *

 

Surveying the gymnasium, Jim  easily spotted Spock sparring with one of his guards. Spock had changed into skin-tight black pants and a nondescript black t-shirt. His feet were bare. As Spock demonstrated a kick for the small crowd that had gathered to watch, Jim almost felt like it was pre-Hlish. He caught Spock’s eye, and waved. Spock immediately redirected his gaze, fluidly flipping his opponent onto his back.

Jim made his way over to join the spectators. Hendorff was among them, looking winded. “Anything to report, Cupcake?” Jim asked after he got next to him.

“He’s like a machine! Spock’s been sparring with us for the past half hour and doesn’t seem even slightly winded.” Hendorff panted a bit, then recovered. “He still employs that Vulcan technique, _sus maha_ _\--”_

“ Suus Mahna,” Jim corrected.

“-- but now he’s much more aggressive than before. If you so much as breathe wrong while facing him, it’s over. He’s got your number.”

Jim said nothing, instead watching the rapid exchange that was playing out before him. While avoiding or blocking most blows, Spock managed to sweep the Xiran off his feet with a sense of grace. The Xiran tapped out.

Jim clapped, slowly. “Pretty good, Spock, but you’ll have to try harder with me.”

“Are you challenging me, Captain?”

“Yeah, Spock, though I doubt you’ll be much of an opponent.” Jim smiled, coldly, with steel in his eyes. 

They squared off.

Jim launched into a combination of kicks and punches, looking for an opening. “I hear you’re so old my  great-grandma could have had a crush on you,” he taunted, landing a solid hit to Spock’s abdomen.

Spock hit back, hard, aim true and form perfect. Jim avoided his powerful blows with a few well-timed dodges. “So old that you predate your fleet.”

Jim caught Spock’s fisted hand in his own, and leveraged it. “You’re so old that you’ve forgotten how to fight me.” He pulled and twisted, and then Spock was off his feet, on his back on the ground.

Jim landed on the ground on top of Spock. “So how old are you, Spock? How long have you been working with the Xirans, forgetting your pledge to Starfleet?”

Spock didn’t tap out, instead rolling hard to the side, flipping Jim under him. “I have forgotten nothing, Jim.” Spock’s eyes were dark as he pinned Jim to the ground, holding his hands above his head. Jim felt the whole length of Spock as he writhed against him, hoping for a way out of the pin. Jim stilled, finding no escape, and tapped out without losing eye contact with Spock.

As Spock released his hands, Jim grabbed Spock’s collar, holding him in place. Their faces only inches apart, Jim could see the fine lines around Spock’s mouth and eyes. He felt Spock exhale shakily. 

“I cannot be what I was, Jim; time moves inextricably forward, ever changing the shape of one’s destiny.”

“We make our own destiny, Spock.” Jim let go of Spock, looking away.

“A lesson I have learned well in the past 473 years.” Spock stood up, accepted a towel from one of his guards, and left the gym.

Jim lay dazed on the ground. “That’s impossible,” he mumbled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews keep me going!


	5. Inquisitions

Jim was in such a fog after Spock’s declaration that he got lost twice on his way back. As the door to his quarters slid shut behind him, Jim let out a hushed, “What the fuck.”

He knew time-travel was possible, Ambassador Selek was proof enough of that, but Spock looked like he had only aged maybe thirty years! How could Spock still be alive after all those years? He felt some of his anger at Spock replaced with a combination of pity and curiosity.

His thoughts traveled in circles. Jim tried to put it out of his mind and focus on his duties. They would arrive on Earth just as Alpha shift started tomorrow. Time to sort out what exactly the plan was on Earth.

A new message from Command detailed his rather simple agenda for their first day: Escort Commander Spock immediately to Starfleet Command at Headquarters. Be prepared to testify as to his recent and past conduct.

The rest of the Xiran negotiations team would be seen to by a group of Starfleet’s diplomatic corp. It looked like they were in for a round of questioning as well.

His crew had the option to take one of the three days that they would spend orbiting Earth as leave, though they had to clear it with their department heads. Jim knew that leave would not be an option for him.

Tired, Jim went to sleep wondering how that much time could change someone.

 

* * *

 

Jim woke abruptly from his slumber, a faint voice reaching his ears. 

“-- I repeat, bridge to Captain Kirk. Bridge to Captain Kirk -- “

Jim lunged out of bed, diving for the intercom.

“Kirk here.”

“Sorry to wake you, sir, but Admiral Chandra needs to speak with you ASAP.”

“Hold on just a second.”  Jim grabbed a clean black t-shirt and uniform pants out of his dresser, hastily throwing them on.

“Put her through to my data terminal.”

Jim had barely sat down at his desk when the terminal blinked to life.

“Captain Kirk.” Admiral Chandra inclined her head in greeting.

“Admiral Chandra. How may I be of service this fine… morning? It’s morning in San Francisco, right?”

“It is just after ten o’clock a.m., Captain. We have a long day planned for you and Commander Spock.”

“He prefers ‘Admiral,’ now.” Kirk stated dryly.

“I prefer subordinate officers that remember their place. He has had a stellar career, up until this point. A pity to ruin it.”

“I’ve tried convincing him to come back to his post. He’s adamant about remaining with the Xirans.”

“He’s been offered the carrot. Command is going to give him the stick. If not for his position with the Xiran Union, he’d be subject to court martial proceedings and a prison term. As it is, he’s going to get a hell of a dressing-down and have to answer for his actions. Tell him we expect to see him in his dress uniform for the inquest. You too, Kirk.”

“Copy that, sir.” 

“See you in a few hours.”

With that, the transmission ended. Jim leaned back, staring at the ceiling. 

 

* * *

 

Jim raided Spock’s old quarters, heading for his closet. Throwing it open, he quickly inventoried its contents. Amid the identical science blues, there hung a few sweaters and a garment bag. Unzipping the bag, he found his quarry: Spock’s Starfleet dress uniform. He pulled it out, and, after a second, grabbed the sweaters too.

 

* * *

 

Ignoring the curious looks from the Xiran guards outside Spock’s VIP quarters, Jim pressed the intercom. 

“Spock, you up?”

The door slid open, revealing Spock in his gray uniform pants and and a white t-shirt. 

“Hello, Captain. What brings you to my quarters?”

“Oh, just wanted to let you know that we’re only an hour out from Earth. We’ll be meeting with Starfleet Command right after we beam down. You ready for this?”

“Affirmative.” 

“Well, there’s one more thing: Command wants you in your uniform. Ah, your old uniform, that is. I grabbed it from your quarters. You look like you’re the same size as you were, before.” Jim felt his face heat a little as he sized Spock up.

He handed the garment bag to Spock, who seemed reluctant to accept it. Before Spock could protest, Jim awkwardly pushed the soft sweaters he had found in the closet at Spock. “Weather’s gonna be chilly on the Bay this week. Might need these.”

Spock grasped the sweaters lightly. Looking at them, he blinked rapidly. “These were knit by my mother.” Spock carefully ran his hand across the folded surface of the brown sweater on top of the pile.

Jim couldn’t think of a word to say. He hesitantly reached out to pat Spock’s forearm. The gesture seemed to snap Spock out of his contemplative state.

“Captain, if that is all, I will meet you at the transporter bay in one hour.” 

“Sure, Admiral, see you there.”

 

* * *

 

One hour later, Jim waited in the transporter bay, feeling rigid in his dress uniform and hat. Jim heard Filik’s voice outside. Filik was agitated, mid-rant, “ -- if Starfleet tries to detain you, to force you to reveal state secrets, how can we defend you without our weapons?”

“They will not try anything untoward, Lieutenant Commander. And I am not an easy man to ‘force.’” Spock strode into the room. 

Jim’s eyes caught on his attire: Spock wore a sweater with wide blue, black, and gray horizontal stripes and plain black pants. It was one of the sweaters Jim had brought him.

“Hey, I thought we were clear on the dress code?” Jim stepped towards Spock.

“I found these garments more suitable.” Spock’s tone was calm and placid.

Jim shrugged expansively. “It’s your funeral.” 

Filik nearly leapt between Jim and Spock. “Admiral, he alludes to your death! Surely you can now see the wisdom of ordering them to return our weapons.”

Jim stepped back, saying, “It’s an expression, Filik, calm the hell down.” 

“Indeed, you must cease your attempts to persuade me, Lieutenant Commander.” Spock moved past Filik to stand up on the transporter platform. 

Jim walked up to a transporter pad near Spock. “Let’s get this show on the road.” Filik and the other guard came to stand behind them.

“Energize.”

 

* * *

 

Materializing into Headquarter’s transporter bay, the first thing Jim laid eyes on was the enormous Starfleet insignia which decorated the wall. He was also struck by the presence of four armed security officers walking towards them. 

“I guess you’re our escort to the meeting?” Jim blithely asked.

The leading officer replied, “We’re here for Commander Spock. Let’s go, Commander.” 

He moved to place his hand on Spock’s arm. Both of Spock’s guards bristled and stepped forward, interrupting his movement.

“Direct physical contact will be unnecessary; you will find me most compliant.” Spock did not look ruffled, but his guards were both on-edge.

“These Xirans can wait here.” The lead security officer glared into Filik’s face.

“These Xirans have been charged with ascertaining my safety and well-being. They shall stay with us until we reach the conference room.”

“I have orders to bring only yourself and Captain Kirk to the inquest.”

“And these men have orders to stay with me. Starfleet agreed to the terms of this meeting; a security detail was included in that agreement. If you cannot allow them to accompany me, I fear we are at an impasse.” 

The security officer stared into Spock’s eyes for a long moment. “Fine, but they have to stay outside the room.”

“A gratifiable compromise.”

“Follow me.” The security officer walked up the short flight of stairs and into Starfleet Headquarters, followed by Spock and his Xiran guards. Jim took the stairs one at a time, a mixture of excitement and dread tieing his stomach in knots.

The trip to the conference room was spent in silence. Jim bounced on his feet in the lift, ready to get the thing done. He wanted to hear how Spock would justify giving Xirans the encryption codes, and what exactly he had done for the last half-century. He knew this was going to go badly for Spock. Exactly how badly was yet to be seen.

Once they reached the anteroom to the conference room, Starfleet security officer number one intoned, “Have your guards wait here.”

Spock nodded to his guards. They flanked the double doors, standing at parade rest. Without so much as glancing back at Jim, Spock pushed open the doors to the conference room. Jim followed a beat behind.

The room was windowless, dark in the corners, lit mainly by small reading lights at the long table. Seven admirals already sat on one side of the table: Archer, Barnet, Nelson, Chandra, Ingami, Kelly, and Iverson, murmuring amongst themselves.

A shorter, much less imposing table sat parallel and several feet away from the Admirals’ table. There were two seats planted at that table, straight backed and with no padding.

The admiralty took note of their arrival, silence falling over the room. Admiral Chandra stood, addressing them.

“Take a seat, gentlemen. Kirk, while you’re not being questioned here, we need your report to verify what Commander Spock claims.”

Spock stood behind the left chair. “I formally greet you as an Admiral of the Xiran Union.” He gave the ta’al to the Admirals.

“You’re not doing yourself any favors, Mr. Spock. Sit down,” Chandra ordered.

Spock sat, looking untroubled. Jim sat, too. He didn’t know what to make of Spock’s demeanor.

“We have convened today to get to the bottom of your disappearance and subsequent reappearance on Hlish. You claim to be an Admiral of a foreign alliance and to have severed your ties to Starfleet, yet it has only been eight days since your disappearance. The foreign alliance in question, the Xiran Union, is in possession of our secure communication encryption protocols and technology that, as you reported, bears some similarity to Federation tech. 

“While we do have questions, Mr. Spock, we have enough facts to convene a much different panel: a court-martial proceeding prosecuting you as a traitor who violated the Prime Directive and gave up classified information in exchange for a high-ranking position. 

“Lucky for you, we aren’t out for blood with the Xirans. Not yet anyway.” Chandra’s face was grim.

"That is indeed fortuitous, for both of us.” Spock’s confident gaze never wavered from Chandra’s face.

“From here on out, speak only to answer questions. Is that clear, Commander?”

“Please refer to me by my current title or by my name, Admiral. And I would prefer a more open conversation.” Spock raised an eyebrow at Chandra. Jim could not believe Spock’s bravado.

“We’re not here to pander to the preferences of a traitor, Spock.” Chandra’s face visibly reddened.

“I am here of my own recognisance. I can simply refuse to answer your questions.” Spock looked utterly unperturbed. “But let us not advance to that point with such rapidity. I can address your immediate concerns rather quickly.”

Chandra sat down heavily. “Really. Go ahead, Mr. Spock.”

“I assure you that in my time on Xira and with the Xiran Union I never violated the Prime Directive by improperly influencing their technology or revealing classified Federation secrets.”

“And yet the Xiran ship known as the  _ Sochya  _ broadcast a transmission using our encryption protocols. You will have to explain much more than that to ‘address our concerns.’”

“I personally encoded that message to remind the  _ Enterprise  _ crew that I knew their protocols. No other beings monitored the encoding process, and I removed all record of the transmission after it was sent.”

“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Admiral Ingami.

“It is ridiculous to think that I would inform the  _ Enterprise  _ of what I knew if I intended to use the protocol to garner information.” 

“What would motivate such a self-sabotaging action, Mr. Spock?” said Admiral Chandra.

“I have never betrayed the Federation, but I have become something dangerous to it. Removing my access to secure Starfleet communications was a necessary step in minimizing my own threat.” 

“So you admit you are a threat,” barked Iverson.

“I admit that I have knowledge that could be used against the Federation. However, I have no intention to ever use it for that purpose, nor did I reveal such information to the Xirans.”

“How, exactly, did you become an admiral without revealing any information to the Xirans?”

“The Prime Directive limits interference with non-warp capable cultures which are not aware of intelligent life on other planets. It did not apply to Xira when I began working with them as an advisor.”

The assembled Admiralty reacted vociferously, talking over each other. 

“We will be the judge of that.”

“So you decided to play God -- ”

“Can we even trust what this Vulcan is saying?”

Chandra’s voice cut through the commotion. “Captain Kirk, have you ever had reason to doubt Mr. Spock’s loyalty to the Federation?”

“Never, Admiral. Or at least not before his disappearance.” Jim felt Spock watching him, but he didn’t dare glance in his direction.

“And yet the fact remains that he has chosen the Xirans over his own people. Care to address this issue, Spock?”

“I found myself in a situation where serving the Federation was no longer possible.”

“Specifically?” 

“I found myself on an unknown planet occupied by a strange race, without a way to contact the Federation or return.”

“That explains nothing, it only raises more questions. I ask you one more time, what made you leave Starfleet?”

“I found myself without hope of ever returning to the Federation: the rift had transported me twenty light years away from Federation space and 473 years backwards in time.”

There was silence in the room for a second. Then, the admirals reacted. 

Kelly groaned out, “Time travel! A convenient excuse!” 

Barnett: “The rift device enables time travel?”

Iverson: “God! How do you expect us to believe this bull pucky?”

Archer: “How’d you get here, then?”

Chandra banged the table with her fists, “One at a time, and I’ll go first. Can you prove this assertion, Mr. Spock?”

“I can, though you will have to allow me to return to the  _ Enterprise  _ to retrieve my proof _.  _ I have primary sources from Xira, including photographs, videos, documents, and audio recordings on a storage device in my quarters. In order to supply them to you, I will need some time to adjust their data formating, so that they can be viewed on a PADD or data terminal.”

“When you have the information ready, forward it to the appropriate Starfleet channels for investigation and verification of said documents. You remember how it’s done, after all, Spock?” Chandra smiled coldly.

“Indeed.” Spock arched an eyebrow in response.

“Kirk, oversee the data transfer. We’ll adjourn for two hours. I expect to have the proof in hand in one hour. We’ll be checking for any signs of data manipulation or fabrication.”

“Yes, sir.” Jim wanted to get out of the debriefing, wanted to talk to Spock.

“This isn’t over,  _ Admiral _ .” Chandra ended on a sarcastic note.

“As you say, Admiral.” Spock’s features betrayed nothing.

“Dismissed.” Spock immediately stood and left the room, leaving Jim hustling in his wake.

 

* * *

 

Outside the room, Filik and partner came to flank Spock.

Jim caught up, looking at Spock, feeling as though he needed to say something. “Spock, I meant what I said in there. I never doubted you before Hlish. And I hope you can prove I had no reason to doubt you, after.”

Spock stared at Jim for a moment, as though measuring his reply, “It was logical to assume I had betrayed you, Jim.” Jim wondered who had betrayed who, reflecting on his angry accusations.

“Spock, if what you said in there is true, we could have moved past this last week.” Jim said, plaintively.

“The decisions I have had to make have not always been easy, and I fear I am no longer the simple, righteous First Officer that you once knew. There is more to my past than I can easily justify. I suspect your reaction will be negative, once you know my full history.” 

“If your heart was in the right place, I can get past just about anything, Spock. It’s not like I’ve always been the textbook model captain.” Jim ruefully grinned.

“If it were as simple as that, I would have confessed it to you right away. There were dark times in which I felt wholly heartless.” Spock abruptly turned to the assembled Starfleet security officers, addressing them. “We require your escort to the transporter bay.”

With that, they set off. Spock said nothing more.

 

* * *

 

Back onboard the ship, Jim watched Spock fiddle with a metallic sphere. The fist-sized sphere had compressible buttons hidden all over its smooth surface and was projecting a thin stream of light out of its top. Spock sat at the desk in his VIP quarters, hunched slightly over the sphere, eyes staring directly down into the stream of light.

Jim shifted in his seat at the small table, impatient. “So that thing, the uh -- data sphere, you called it? -- projects images directly onto your retina, right? Can I see it, see what the projection looks like?”

“I would gladly show you, Captain, however this data sphere is calibrated for my Vulcan eyes. Its projection would appear as a blur to you.” Spock never looked up from his work. “It would be logical to avail yourself of the mess hall. I require the entire time allotted by Admiral Chandra to successfully engineer a Xiran/Federation data transfer protocol.”

“No, Spock, I want to stay here. You might need another pair of hands. I’m not too shabby with the computers either, if you recall.”

“I recall that you can surmount almost any obstacle in your path. You do not believe in no-win scenarios, after all.”

“Funny, your situation on arrival at Xira seems like a no-win scenario.”

“I did nearly give up hope, Captain. But my memories of what we had helped create on the  _ Enterprise  _ sustained me.”

“I’m flattered, Admiral.”

“You should not be, for I only speak the truth.”

Jim allowed the room to fall into companionable silence, watching as Spock continued his work.


	6. Interlude: Spock's Point-of-View

Spock carefully adjusted the metadata surrounding the files he intended to send to Command, fingers moving on autopilot. It was not a task that occupied his whole mind, and he found his thoughts wandering to the events which he would no doubt have to justify in order to explain his situation to Command, and more importantly, to Jim.

 

* * *

 

He came to in a hospital bed, an unidentifiable armed black-eyed alien standing at the only doorway out of the strangely-curved room. He had no idea where he was, and no clear memory of how he had gotten there. He felt groggy, tired, and sore, as if he had just come out of a healing trance. He glanced out the nearby window, seeing an array of glossy buildings and beautiful gardens.

Monitors beeped around him, tracking his heart rate.

“Where am I?” he asked as another, unarmed alien entered the room.

“Mharna dizit drenal ist? Shocha himlit -- ” The alien continued on in its foreign tongue, checking his bandages with its six-fingered hands. It did not seem interested in harming him, though it probed at his wounds painfully. The alien took his temperature with a small electronic thermometer, which looked similar to those used on Vulcan hundreds of years prior to his birth. 

As the alien doctor left, several additional armed aliens entered the room, producing his tattered uniform. They shouted at him in their language, pointing emphatically at the uniform and then back at him. 

Spock said, “I cannot understand you.” They had many questions, trying to communicate with him until the alien doctor chased them off. 

Gazing out his bedside window, Spock watched as the planet’s class-M sister dipped beneath the horizon. The planet’s gentle motion lulled him to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

Spock woke to find himself bundled onto a stretcher and strapped down. He had been healing slowly since regaining consciousness, and had gotten used to the routine of doctor visits and the armed aliens’ attempts at communication.

He had almost felt strong enough to overpower the guard on his door and escape. Now his chance was gone. 

Loaded into the back of what looked to be a wheeled, armored transport, Spock struggled against his bonds futilely. One of his captors pointed his weapon at him, shouting an order. Spock stilled.

They blindfolded him before unloading the stretcher from the vehicle. Spock’s remaining wounds ached as he was roughly jostled. He could hear the sounds of boots hitting pavement, but nothing more.

He was unbound without ceremony. He hesitantly removed his blindfold, finding himself outside what looked like a cell, its jail-bar walls curving sinuously around a bed, a table with two chairs, and some manner of sink with an exposed hole in the ground..

The aliens pressed him through the doorway and locked him in.

 

* * *

 

Spock startled out of his meditation, as the door to his cell opened with a clang. 

The aliens had not attempted to interrogate him for ten days, providing him food through a slot in the wall. Spock was strong enough to attempt an escape, but there had been no opportunities. Spock spent most of his time in meditation.

A guard came in first and forced Spock to sit at the table. He was followed by an alien who appeared to be female, carrying a stack of papers with her. She was not in the grey uniform of the guards and interrogators. 

She sat across from him, and pulled out a photograph of a class-M planet similar to Earth in appearance. She pointed to it, saying, “Xira.” She pointed to the photograph and then at herself, saying, “Xiran.” 

She pulled out another photo, showing him another planet, more ruddy with desert though still partially blanketed with clouds. He recognized it from his view at the hospital. “Xiva,” she said. She flipped another photo over, which contained the image of a cat-like humanoid with a tail. “Xivan.” 

She then thrust a stack of photographs at Spock, photographs of a variety of planets. He carefully examined each one, recognizing none. She prompted him again, repeating, “Xira. Xiran. Xiva, Xivan.” She pointed at Spock.

Spock paused, weighing his options. Though technologically inferior to the Federation, these Xirans obviously knew they were not alone in the universe. 

He passed the photographs back to her. “Vulcan. Vulcan,” he replied.

She smiled at him, obviously pleased. “M’adrea Foura,” she said, pointing to herself.

“M’adrea Spock,” he replied.

 

* * *

 

A Xiran military interrogator was in his cell. “Are there others like you? What are your intentions on Xira?”

Spock understood the Xiran words without difficulty. His understanding of the Xiran language had grown with each passing day, though he feigned non-comprehension at times. He counted the days he spent in confinement. Thirty-one, and no sign of the  _ Enterprise. _ He held on to hope, knowing that Captain Kirk and the _ Enterprise _ crew would not abandon him lightly.

“My people are peaceful. My intentions are peaceful.” Spock answered.

“What was your job on your planet?”

Spock did not want to expose himself as a scientist and a military officer. Thinking back to his view over the city, he answered, “I was a gardener.”

 

* * *

 

The language tutor, Foura, visited his cell regularly. This time though, she carried a large duffel bag. 

“Spock! Good news!” she exclaimed, handing him the bag as she entered the cell. The guard was curiously relaxed. 

“What is this?” he asked.

“Clothes, some supplies, and a small amount of money. You’ll have to get a job --  “

“What?” Spock interrupted.

“You’re being released!” cried Foura, smiling

Spock dazedly accepted the bag, allowing Foura to shepherd him out of the cell. While he was grateful to be released, he felt as though he was in a dream. 

 

* * *

 

Dropped off outside a hostel, Spock was immediately overwhelmed by a crowd of at least one hundred Xirans. They were carrying signs with crude drawings of his head, ears exaggerated, and the word “Welcome,” chanting “Welcome to Xira!” Puzzled, Spock makes his way through the excited crowd and into the hostel. 

At the admittance desk, Spock enquired, “Why has this crowd gathered? How do they know of me?”

The hostel’s manager replied, “You don’t know? You’re a celebrity!” Spock could not follow all that the man said, still a novice at the language. The manager activated a handheld sphere, holding it out to Spock. Peering into the light the sphere projected, Spock was able to make out a photograph of himself, battered and wounded, pointed ears clearly visible. 

Spock handed the device back to the manager, asking, “Who took this? How did you get it?”

The manager replied, “A young couple on a stroll through the central Maz’Xira garden found you, and took these pictures.” He thrust the sphere into Spock’s hands again, pressing more buttons. Spock looked through, seeing a corona of light visible past the top of a hill in the dark of night. He saw more photographs of himself and his injuries, and then photos of military personnel loading him into a vehicle.

“The couple published the photos in our halls of knowledge, saying that they had found an alien and that the military had taken you away.” The manager pointed out the front window to the still-gathered crowd. “A movement started to see you set free. It’s really popular.”

“Fascinating.” Spock retreated into the hostel, thankful to be away from the throng of well-wishers. 

 

* * *

 

Following the last orders he had been given by the Xiran military, Spock spent his first evening compiling a list of possible employers. The next few days were spent meeting with landscapers, trying to find jobs that would earn him enough to get by. He did his best to avoid the curious stares and occasional intrusive greetings from inquisitive Xiran citizens. The hope of rescue was ever-present in his thoughts. He did not fully trust the Xiran military to simply let him go, though nothing so far had indicated that he was being observed.

After a few days of studiously checking to see if his movements in the city were tracked or otherwise monitored, Spock felt confident enough to go to a Xiran hall of knowledge. While functioning as a library, these buildings were also a place where Xirans would gather to debate scientific topics and present artistic works.

Spock quickly found his goal: an archive of the photographs taken by an orbital telescope.

After cross-referencing the information in the photographs with his knowledge of astral landmarks, he concluded that Xira was twenty light years away from Hlish. He was in uncharted space, far from where he disappeared. He concluded that it would be unlikely for the  _ Enterprise _ to be looking for him here. He would need to be more proactive if he ever expected to see his ship again.

 

* * *

 

Spock walked into the small, sparsely furnished apartment. He went to shower, dirty and sweaty after a full day at his job with a landscaping contractor. 

Tonight was the night. He washed himself hurriedly, thinking about the look that would cross Jim’s face when he received the signal. He thought of Jim with longing, missing him more keenly than a simple friend ever would. In his time away from the  _ Enterprise,  _ Spock had ample time to analyse his feelings towards his impulsive Captain, and he had come to a surprising conclusion: he desired Jim. His intelligence, courage under fire, leadership ability, compassion, and their now-easy camaraderie lit a fire within Spock.

Feeling indulgent, he allowed himself to become aroused at thoughts of reuniting with Jim, roughly jerking himself to completion under the spray. 

After finishing his shower and redressing, Spock approached the piles of circuit boards arrayed on the small dining table. The transceiver was nearly complete. He secured the last cable connections, tuning the receiver to a commonly used Federation subspace channel. However,he was unable to pick up any transmissions. Perplexed, Spock switched channels, increasing the gain of the receiver. He tuned it a different Federation channel, and again, nothing. He scrolled through all the channels he could remember, finding no transmissions.

He could not understand how there was absolutely nothing being broadcast. Even degraded by the distance, there should still be something.

Frustrated, he began retesting the components of the transceiver, determined to make it work. It had been 94 days since his arrival on Xira.

 

* * *

 

It was a clear, beautiful day on Xira. Spock was tending to the grounds of the largest nuclear power plant on the planet. Gardening came easily to Spock; he had learned a bit from his mother’s attempts to keep a few plants healthy on Vulcan, and more from a string of botany courses he had taken in the Academy.

Spock heard voices from where he was crouched behind a bush, diligently pulling weeds. “Calm down, I have the security patrols all mapped out and timed. We’re clear. Let’s go. Forever green!” 

Spock recognized the phrase ‘forever green:’ it was the rallying cry of an anti-pollution group with the intent to propel Xira back to a bygone, low-tech era by any means necessary.

Spock carefully peered over the bush, noticing a ragtag group of three Xirans on the other side of the fenced perimeter of the grounds he was tending. He watched as they cut a hole in the fence, slipping through. One of their jackets got caught in the opening, pulling back to reveal a gun.

Spock was instantly on high alert, inferring that they meant to breach the security perimeter of the plant. He tailed the group through the outer gardens, at a careful distance.

He desperately hoped that the group merely intended to place some peaceful sign of their disapproval of the nuclear facility.

His hopes were quashed when the leader of the group shot the first guard the group encountered without hesitation.

Spock yearned to stop them, but restrained himself. The Prime Directive prohibited interfering in a society’s internal affairs. He could not stop himself from continuing to follow them, however. He counted on the fact that the plant’s security would intercept the intruders.

Winding deeper and deeper into the plant, Spock realised that there was little hope that the guards would stop the group as they rendezvoused with a worker from the plant. He said something unintelligible from the distance, then joined the group. An inside man.

The four intruders made it all the way into the central control room. Spock listened from just outside the doorway. Three loud bangs ringing out with corresponding sickly thuds as they immediately executed three men staffing the room. One man was left, whimpering in fear.

“Enter the code or your family bites it!” yelled one of the intruders.

“I don’t believe you!” cried the worker.

“Here, listen to this. You can talk to them.”

“Rohat?” a slightly distorted voice quietly broke the silence of the room.

“Honey?” the worker cried, despairingly.

“I’m supposed to tell you that… that they’ll kill me and our children if you don’t do as they say.” The woman’s voice broke into sobs.

“Proof enough for you?” asked the leader.

“Okay, I’ll do what you want. I’ll enter the code!”

Spock waited, nervously. The Prime Directive, he reminded himself.

He heard the sound of someone typing at a keyboard, then alarm klaxons going off.

“Thanks, scum. A reward for your noble service to the cause -- “

A gunshot resounded in the enclosed space. 

A recorded voice came over the speakers: “Warning: three minutes until meltdown. Re-engage cooling system.”

Spock thought about the millions of Xirans within fifty miles of the plant. He thought about no-win scenarios. He thought about dying here, unmourned and torn away from those that he loved.

He lept into action, dashing into red-lit control room. He caught two of the terrorists by surprise, easily knocking them out from behind. He disarmed the third, knocking him out with a swift kick to the head.

Just the leader remained. Spock dodged a shot by ducking behind a nearby pillar as the recorded voice intoned: “ -- two minutes forty-five seconds -- ” A second gunshot hit him in the bicep, wounding him. 

The leader cackled madly. “You can’t stop the countdown, you fool!” 

Popping out from behind his cover, he grabbed the gun the man was holding, forcing it out of the man’s hand, closing in on him. They grappled briefly, slamming against the main terminal, then Spock slipped a hand behind the man, delivering the Vulcan nerve pinch.

“ -- two minutes thirty seconds --- “

Spock ran to the main console, hastily accessing the mainframe. He slipped into the cold stream of pure logic, intent on his goal of restarting the cooling system. Quickly determining the type of operating system, he reached an impasse.  He needed to provide an 8-character override sequence in order to input the command. 

“ -- one minute until meltdown -- “

Spock hastily designed and implemented a program to brute force the code. It wasn’t his finest work, but it would have to do.

“ -- 23, 22, 21 -- “

He watched as the program did its work, trying millions of combinations of numbers and Xiran letters per second. 

“ -- 7, 6, 5 --”

Suddenly, the program correctly entered the code. Spock entered the commands to restart the cooling system with great haste.

“Cooling system engaged.”

Once he heard the words, Spock slumped next to the console, applying pressure to the wound in his arm, looking at the security camera pointed directly at the terminal where he had been working.

Soon enough, the remaining plant security officers arrived on scene. 

 

* * *

 

Spock sat pensively awaiting his fate in an interrogation room. The cold metal chair he was bound to squeaked annoyingly as he shifted out of frustration. The military had taken him from the nuclear power plant’s guards. Thus far, he had been questioned about his actions at the plant by several officers whose rank increased each time a new one appeared on the scene. It had been hours. His cover story as a simple gardener was blown, but he had told them nothing of his true background.

Spock looked curiously at the room’s door as it swung violently open. Another Xiran military officer stalked in. Spock’s eyebrow quirked -- this man was ranked general.

“We have your actions on tape. We know you’re not just a gardener, Spock.” the General said, strident voice booming in the quiet interrogation room.

“We want your knowledge, your insight into science and technology. You went through the plant’s digital security checks like they weren’t even there.” He walked behind Spock, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’re in your debt to you for averting that crisis, of course, but we cannot allow a resource like you to remain untapped. For the good of Xira.”

“I will not give you anything. For the good of Xira.” Spock shifted as far away from the man as possible, his bonds clattering against the metal chair.

And so began his second stay in the Xiran military prison.

 

* * *

 

Spock pulled himself from his state of reflection. The data was nearly ready to send on to the Admiralty. Spock feared what Jim would think of his past actions. Kaiidith, he reminded himself.

 

**End Interlude**


End file.
